Fractured Mind
by JocelynM
Summary: It has been six months since Harry Potter died at the hands of Lord Voldemort's army. How will his death affect those closest to him? And how will they respond when a new threat to humanity approaches with power beyond any mere magic? WIP
1. Draco's Mourning

_Author's Note: This is a story that has been in development for quite sometime. It has been a labor of love for me. So hopefully it is something that you will find worth following.  
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_Warnings: This story focuses on the relationship of two men ( Draco and Harry, among others...). So if this bothers you in any way I hope you can see past it to the plot beneath. There are some violent moments as well as sexual situations, mind you, nothing terribly graphic. There are influences in the plotline from X-men: The Last Stand. Though they are pertinent to the main plot, they do not completely make up the story as there are several main plots that will happen throughout the story, besides the one that is based on the movie.  
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_Disclaimer: I do not lay claim to owning the Harry Potter franchise. It belongs strictly to J.K. Rowling and I give her such credit. This is a work of fandom, not profit._

_I hope you enjoy! _

_Jocey_

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It's been almost six months since he died, since he saved them all from the Dark Lord's terror—at least for a time. Dumbledore had assembled a final front to take on Voldemort and finish him once and for all. That night… Harry and he knew that it might be their last night. As it turned out, it would be the last time Draco would see those determined emerald eyes return his gaze, reassuring him.

Draco shifted at his desk, knowing that he needed to get this letter off to Weasley today. Dumbledore had asked them to meet with him for a lunch within the next week. He said he had something to discuss with the two of them.

Draco sighed. Just thinking of that codger was a burden. Whatever news he wanted to share, whether it horrid or wonderful, it would most likely be a shock, and Draco didn't like change all that much, especially now. The love of his life dying was change enough for a life time. Even so, he brought the quill down to parchment.

_Weasley,_

_Dumbledore has requested that we meet with him for a luncheon in three days' time. He apparently has propositions for us that are too good to refuse…_

Draco paused for a moment, considering his words.

…_Hope things are well,_

_Draco_

He leaned back in his chair wondering if he should write more.

Weasley was taking the death even worse than Draco was. While Draco was clearly mourning, he was able to compartmentalize his thoughts and emotions, something he was always good at doing since early childhood. Living with his father required such a talent. However, such methods usually resulted in him being jolted awake by a nightmare so vivid that he ended up silently sobbing himself back to sleep.

Weasley, however, had no control whatsoever. He was clearly emotionally gone. Draco didn't know how Granger was handling it. The man barely associated with anyone anymore, accept, Draco supposed, with his wife in the privacy of their own home. However, last time Draco had seen Granger she looked exhausted. She was very likely pouring all of her efforts into caring for her husband and their child while getting very little in return. Draco swallowed the dull pain in his throat and gazed upon the letter he had yet to put in an envelope.

The ink was green… green like a curse…

_Brilliant yet terrifying green light encompasses the entire forest, or what remains of it. Dumbledore and Draco stand side by side in front of the eight hundred or so rebels, wondering if they will die this night. To Draco's front stands a raven haired man holding back the power of three thousand killing curses intended for the Resistance by Lord Voldemort's army._

_Harry… he is both beautiful and almighty._

_Having abandoned his wand long ago, he manipulates all the elements of the earth and the magic it holds at a molecular level. _

_It is breathtaking._

_Draco tears his eyes from the cosmic scene, looking beyond to a man that suddenly seems very small. The Dark Lord's eyes are both infuriated and terrified--he clearly had no knowledge of Harry's potential._

_Before he can feel pride for the scene he's witnessing, a warm and gentle wave consumes his mind…_

"_I know what I'm doing…" The voice is so calm--it's resolve terrifying him. Panic takes hold of his lungs. Harry plans on leaving him in this world forever! Yet, he is calm…_

_Draco knew that Dumbledore could hear the same words. His eyes are downcast, twinkling with grief and not mischief._

"_Harry… please," He begs helplessly._

_Why won't Harry let him help!? Why couldn't HE be the sacrifice!_

_Harry turns with a small smile, hearing his grief. Hope and courage flood his mind, giving him a means to witness what he can't possibly. In that single, fleeting glance, he tries to convey how utterly in love with Harry he is… and how grief tears relentlessly at his soul._

_Harry's eyes shift to the old man's, which shine with an inexpressible apology. Draco sees the guilt in his eyes, in making Harry a weapon in this war. It had to be done. They both knew it. The entity before them turns his back to them, facing death once more. _

_The voice is stronger, filling his mind with resonance. _

"_Get out of here! I can't hold this forever!"_

_The last thing he can see before the rebellion disapparates is the sight of the man he loves, consumed by a wall of green light._

Draco came to with a choked gasp.

Oh God! He was dead! He was gone!

He lowered his head between his knees, repeatedly gasping, tears streaming down his face.

It wasn't working! He couldn't breathe!

He wretched painfully into the trash can by the foot of his desk. Slowly, his shoulders slumped, his heart slowed to a less erratic pump.

'_Damn it. It always happens like this.'_

He leaned back in his chair, his head swimming, pain in his neck and temples. He could still recall the article the day after in the Daily Prophet. The front page was nothing but a picture of a half-mile wide crater--nothing but rock and ash. He flicked his wand at the mess, watching it crack into nothing.

Harry had clearly been incinerated, or was so far deep in rubble that there was little chance of recovering the body intact. The scene was still exactly as it was. The aurors wanted to keep it so for investigative purposes.

Draco walked into the kitchen, his limbs heavy. He looked through his bare fridge, finally settling on a bottle of water. He walked to the window over the sink, washing the tang out of his mouth.

What was there to investigate? The forces of good came upon the forces of evil, and evil had clearly won. And now Draco was standing alone in his God-forsaken apartment.

He looked at the scene on the street below. He lived in Muggle London, which was a comfort for him. Voldemort didn't think to look for him there, and the place didn't remind him of everything he lost; his mother, his father…

_Harry._

He liked that there were people still happy, still full of joy in the streets below, sitting outside of little cafes, ranting about the happenings of the day to their best friends.

Draco turned from the sink and entered his bedroom to gather the few things he now owned. He waved his wand at his suitcase and clothing, prompting them to organize themselves efficiently.

'_Dumbledore couldn't possibly need me for that long_.'

His eyes shifted to the desk, wondering if he dare think what he inevitably would if he opened the drawer. Against his better judgment, he tentatively opened the bottom left drawer and pulled out the pendant--a gold coin covered in rust with a family crest on it. It was tied to a simple brown string, long enough to tie around a neck.

"_Honestly Draco, you already gave me a blasted birthday present! Must you give me one every day of the week?" Harry was gleeful despite himself. He was practically bouncing on the couch in the common room, hugging a pillow to himself._

"_This is different, Harry…… timeless." _

_Harry sobered at his reverence, wondering what could possibly make Draco speak without a hint of sarcasm. It was a simple brown box tied with a black ribbon. _

_Harry carefully opened the box, fearing that at his slightest mishap he would break the precious object within. _

_He didn't know what to make of it._

_The coin didn't seem like anything Draco would approve of. It didn't glitter, it didn't scream mystique. It was a simple gold pendant that was turned almost olive by rust and age. Harry finally gave up, looking to Draco imploringly for an explanation._

"_That once belonged to your father, or at least I think it did at one point. It is a family's crest--yours, that is." He couldn't read Harry; his face was slowly morphing from curiosity to… blankness? He looked like he might break._

_Oh no… was this a mistake? He swallowed audibly and quickly broke the silence._

"_Now I know you pride yourself foolishly on being a half-blood, all thanks to your mother..." he stuttered a bit, noticing that his attempt at playfulness wasn't cutting across to the man next to him._

"… _However, the Potter family line traces back pure-blood for hundreds of generations. Since I'm lazy and wasn't willing to trace it back any further, we'll just assume that was the case for the other three hundred generations I didn't look up." Harry continued to look down at the pendant, devoid of emotion--devoid except for the tightness of his lips, the tremor of his hand, and the tautness of the chords in his neck._

'_Oh God… I'm a fool.'_

"_Anyways, this once belonged to your father, and your grandfather, and great grandfather and so on and so on," he finished--feeling truly defeated._

_After a moment._

"_I just thought--I don't know, it was a piece of history you could keep with you, another piece of your family, and--Harry?" Harry was looking at the pendant fixedly, flipping it in his fingers a few times. He finally looked up into Draco's silver eyes, his emerald ones glistening. _

_Finally, a smile, if a rather weepy one._

"_Thank you, I love it Draco, really… and I love you." He leaned up to kiss Draco's neck. Looking up into his face, he swiped back a stray hair that had fallen into Draco's eye. _

_Draco sighed. It had been a relative success._

_Harry settled back down into Draco's side, again, staring fixedly at the pendant in his palm. _

"_You know…" _

_Draco looked down again at the head whose hair he kept stroking back in a hypnotic lullaby._

"_What's wrong Harry?" _

"_I just--I just hate that I'm not over it like I thought I was." He sat up a little, placing the pendant on the table, as if to observe from a distance. _

"_There was a time when I was able to not think about them. I was able to convince myself that I was ready to move on--I mean, how can I start a life when I dwell on the past so much? It's not healthy!" He sat back against Draco, eyes not focusing on anything in particular._

"_Harry! Don't try to diminish all you've been through!" He didn't mean to sound outraged, but it was finally a chance to voice what had been on his mind for quite some time._

"_It's just--I feel like if I don't change soon… I never will." His eyes finally focused on Draco, determined, yet inexplicably fearful, "I feel as if something terrible is about to happen, Draco--something that will effect everyone."_

"_If you're talking about the war, Dumbledore is—-_

—_It's not just the war, Draco," He sighed, suddenly seeming tired, "Something more dangerous… something that isn't poisoned and dying at the hands of black magic and hate, like Voldemort." Harry gazed at the fire, his eyes suddenly alight with a life that Draco wasn't so sure he recognized. _

"_What is it?" he asked lightly, grinning despite the troubling words he just heard._

"_Nothing…" Harry came back to himself, smiling slightly._

"_C'mon."_

_Harry finally tore his eyes from the fire, sighing. He took a moment to find his words, wanting them to be right._

"_There are very few people in my life where I feel like Harry around them and not a savior of any kind………there's Ron and Hermione but…" He reached for the pendant, studying it once more._

"_It must be tough."_

"…_yeah, it is." Harry readjusted himself, and then reached for Draco's hand and kissed it. _

"_You're my savior anyway," Draco said, not knowing what else to say. Harry smiled, gazing again at the fire which gave them warmth, "Thank you for the wonderful birthday."_

Draco looked up with a start from the luggage he had fixed with a glassy stare.

"Honestly, I'm getting ridiculous."

His heart hurt, but he wouldn't let himself spend anymore time remembering what he no longer possessed. He swiped the wetness from his eye. He found his wand on his bed, and with a loud crack, he disappeared.


	2. A Weasley's Reminiscence

A ginger-haired man shivered as he made his way through a desolate field that, once upon a time, was the portion of the Forbidden Wood in which the centaurs reigned. It was cold and dewy. Judging by the hint of orange and pink on the horizon, it couldn't be later than 5:30 in the morning. He ignored the silence of the air; the only thing it held was the sound of waking birds and the ever present smell of ash. He ignored everything except for the location he was now upon. His breath grew harsh as bloodshot eyes closed.

Why was he here? Why couldn't he just accept the fact that he was dead and cherish the life that his wife and daughter offered him so willingly. It would be a good life. One in which he could look upon at the time of his death with genuine pride in his heart.

He collapsed upon one of many boulders that had formed during the last confrontation the Resistance had with the Dark Lord. Spring had brought new life to this place of death and memories. Weeds slowly took home on the craters; the smell of burning magic now competed with the subtle presence of pollen and grass. The animals of the forest no longer avoided the plague deeply imbedded in this landmark. Now, he knew if he waited, he would eventually see a doe's eyes through the trees, questioning whether his presence was a threat to her young.

Even this place was moving on so quickly, it and everyone else that he knew. Hermione had mourned, of course. But she also had a means to dispel her grief--through the precious life of their daughter, Madelyn. When one loses one love, it is a little bit easier to make peace when you have another love to take care of. He didn't let himself think about how he should be the exact same way.

He wondered how Malfoy was still the man he was after losing the love of his life, when he, was so obviously not.

He scoffed, only slightly ashamed at how he viewed Harry's happiness. I f it hadn't been for Malfoy, Harry very likely would have been with him now. T hey would be having beers at that pub in London they happened upon…The Ceder Wood? Or was it Oak Mills? He couldn't really remember--something to do with trees. They might have been miserable over their jobs, but they still would have been laughing, however hysteria induced it would have been.

It had been Malfoy's idea--the rebellion. He had convinced Harry that we had the means to confront Voldemort's army, that we had recruited enough people. Ron had been skeptical. He figured that maybe there were, at the most, perhaps five thousand survivors who were still willing to risk themselves and their families' lives for the sake of a final stand. Everyone else had fled to the States or to Asia. The former being a largely muggle community that the wizarding world could easily blend into, and the latter was simply uncharted territory as far as wizarding kind was concerned. From what Ron had heard from within the Ministry, The Far East had an entirely different method of sorcery dating back further then any witchcraft seen in the U.K..

Harry, of course, had been all for the idea. Considering how smitten Harry was with Malfoy, he couldn't really expect any other response out of him. He laughed to himself and whoever else in the field cared to listen as tears began to leak out of his puffy eyes. Harry had finally been so in love with someone. He had found someone who brought him back to life; something Hermione and he had been incapable of since 7th year. He was mourning his friend's lost chance at a peaceful life, and yet, much to his shame, he wished that none of it happened so that Harry would still be alive.

He curled in on himself, lowering himself to the grass as anguish tore at his throat and heart.

_He walked with weighted steps through the murky shadows of Grimmauld Place, not even bothering to take shelter from the rain. He had been making records of the latest death counts in different regions of the U.K. all day, only to follow with four agonizing internship interviews from Hogwarts._

_It was all a joke, really. The Ministry was no more than a hole in the ground now that it didn't have the power to resist the Dark Lord. It, instead, had turned into a larger, global organization whose primary goal was to bring Lord Voldemort into custody. Of course---it was still a hole in the ground._

_All of them were kids he recognized from grades below him… particularly that wretched, youngest Creevey. He should have known that he would apply for a position within the Ministry._

_He watched as the entrance to his home, however humble, made itself known and then with great relief, he entered to the outcries of one Mrs. Black. _

"_Ron, is that you?" He heard Hermione, tentative. He smelled food. He knew it was pork because he also smelled apples and cinnamon. He really wanted meat loaf. _

"_Hermione, I'm starving!" he whined like the grown twenty-one year old that he was. He made his way into the kitchen, already disgruntled that Hermione wasn't answering him. He was surprised to find that she was still over the sink, staring out the window. He decided not to make anything of it. He made his way behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist… she wasn't responding._

"_Hey." He kissed her neck gently, brushing back her hair over her shoulders. She finally turned to face him, still encompassed in his arms. She was smiling, but her eyes were panicked… no, terrified._

"_Hermione, what's wrong?" He asked softly, hugging her tightly to him in an effort to comfort her frenzy. It wasn't helping. Her eyes cracked into tears and her smile vanished. The same panic that he saw gripped at his insides. Did someone they love die? Was it mum or dad?_

"_Hermione, what happened! Is every--_

"_Ron--I'm… ," she faltered, staring at the ground instead of into his eyes. She took a short, steadying breath before finally meeting his gaze again with a sort of wrecked determination, if that were possible._

"_I'm pregnant." Tears streamed down her face freely now. As he slowly processed what he heard, a feeling of ecstasy slowly filled his heart. And yet, she truly looked like she had just lost the greatest love of her life._

"_You're crying." He said simply, somewhat mystified. _

_At that, she stared at him, apparently shocked. Her wide, watery, expectant eyes waited for him to reach some apparent conclusion that she had already reached. Was she not happy that they would share a child together? That they would share a life together? Sure, they weren't married, and this had come as somewhat of a surprise but… it was a new life together, all the same._

_She finally grew aggravated, "RON--we're at WAR!" she said with a heartbreaking sob. Her pitch rose with each word she enunciated clearly, as if to show how truly hardheaded Ron was. He couldn't tell if she was furious or anguished--maybe both. She cried, but her eyes were feverish and alight with a sort of maternal, instinctual anger._

"_Every night while you and Harry are out running errands for the Order, I'm here sitting wondering if that morning was the last time I was going to see either of you ever again!" She hiccupped indignantly, managing to make Ron fall in love with her just a little bit more._

"_And it was fine! And I was dealing with it! Because HELL, We've lived our entire lives that way!" She took a moment, her eyes still wild and terrified._

"_We three are the primary targets of Lord Voldemort, Ron! And now along with wondering if any of us are going to die, I have to wonder if one day my child is going to be fatherless! Or DEAD!" Despite the fact that she was hitting his shoulder with every other word she spoke, he knew if he let go of her waist that she would have crumpled to the floor. _

_He simply gazed at her in shock. He felt horrible, but it seemed that she was finished. Her head sank onto his shoulder and she silently let out all the pain. He didn't know what do, so he simply stroked her hair back, over and over._

"_Hermione, if anything, we have to celebrate new life even more in such times," her head rose, questioning if she could really accept his words, "because if we don't, why are we even fighting this war, eh?"_

_Her brown eyes were watery and red, but there was a subtle acceptance and smile in them, even if her mouth was still, more or less, frowning._

"_Chin up, Love. Things get better all the time." He smiled and laid a gentle kiss upon her weepy lips. She seemed to melt at the simple sign of affection and care. He offered her all the protection he could in that kiss. She pulled away, her eyes offering all of her greatest fears to him._

"_I'm scared, Ron." The simple admittance sent a wave terror through him. But he swallowed it down. Because, right now, Hermione couldn't manage to swallow it down on her own. _

"_I know, Love. I'm scared too. But conquering our fear is the only way we can defeat Lord Voldemort." She sighed and laid her head upon his chest. They let the rare moment of peace wash over them. Their anxiety, for the time being, was gone. She finally pushed away, renewed and resolved. She turned her back to him and took out the dishes she had just washed._

"_Are you hungry?"_

"_Famished!" He said as he gave her a firm squeeze. She reached over her shoulder for his hand to grip._

"_I'm sorry Ron, I feel like such a fool." He smiled at that---she was anything but._

"_But you're my fool." The irony of that statement hit them both. His smile turned wry._

_She rolled her eyes at him, "Why don't you just get some silverware out and set the table, Ron." He kissed her neck one last time before letting go and heading over to the drawer._

_SLAM!_

_Hermione nearly dropped the plates from the tremor that rattled the house. He already could tell that it was Harry… and that he was upset._

"_Harry? That you?" Ron hollered to the front hall. There was no response, except for the rustling of wet clothing. _

"_Uh—yeah." From what Ron could tell it was forced and barely managed. He and Hermione shared tentative glances. She finally sighed and nodded in Harry's direction. Apparently, she was still recovering, as this was usually her role. He stuck his head out the doorway._

"_You want some dinner, mate?"_

_A gasp nearly escaped his lips. Harry looked horrible. He was soaking wet. He had been crying; his eyes were red and the shadows under his eyes were more prominent… and there was a quickly swelling bruise on his left cheek bone. Angry heat flared to the surface of his face. _

"_What happened, Harry?!" Harry winced. His anger faded for a moment out of surprise._

"_Nothing, I--I'm just going to go to bed. I'm tired." He made his way to the stairs quickly, avoiding Ron's gaze, "I'll see you guys in the morning." Not knowing what to do, Ron went back into the kitchen._

_Hermione paused from setting the table, "What happened?"_

"_I don't know. I didn't really manage to get a word in…"_

_They both knew that Harry was usually incapable of communication immediately following a trauma._

"_He had a bruise… on his cheek." He looked to Hermione for his next move. He didn't really know what to make of the situation. Could it really have been Malfoy? Despite his own personal opinions of the man, he knew how much they cared for each other. Hermione was clearly on the same track as he. She went to the refrigerator and pulled out two beers. _

"_He needs you more than I do right now," she forced them into his hands with a small smile. They had an understanding. As strong as their bond was as a couple, their bond as "the trio" was just as strong, if not stronger. _

_He attempted a brave face._

"_Wish me luck!" he received a quick peck on the cheek as he turned for the stairs. _

_He knocked hesitantly, "Harry?" _

_A moment of silence… _

_Nope, no answer._

"_Harry, I bring alcohol to drown in." He thought a light attempt of making fun would get him in the room._

_Another moment…_

"_Harry? I just—_

_--not right now, Ron." _

_Harry's voice was hoarse. He decided to ignore his friend's request, as usual. He slowly opened the door to see the heap convulsing softly on the bed. He sat down next to Harry and shoved the beer in his friend's face._

"_Here. Drink and be numb." Harry looked at him incredulously for a moment with swollen eyes before finally taking it and sitting up._

"_You're ridiculous." He could tell that Harry was attempting to be agitated, but he saw the small smile._

"_Come on. Beer is a cure all." They clanked cans before each took a swig. Harry sat up a little straighter, contemplating his can. He was thinking when he should be talking. _

"_What happened, Harry?" Ron attempted assertiveness, but still allowed a moment for an answer._

_Nothing._

"_Is it Draco?" he tried again; saw his friend's composure slipping, tears welling in eyes once more. _

_It was Draco._

_He waited and drank; it was all he could do. _

"_Something happened tonight… and--I don't know how to explain it." Harry was fidgeting now._

"_What do you mean?"_

_Harry looked up, his eyes were impossibly green, but they were weighed down by something. He was on the brink, Ron could tell. _

_"I—I think I almost hurt Draco tonight—or I was going to… I don't know! I don't know what's wrong with me!" He rested his head in his palms… so helpless. _

_"From what I can tell, he's the one who hurt you… I know you love him, but I ought to punch his—_

_"NO! It's not like that! I'm the one who should be punched!"_

_"Harry! Don't protect him!"_

_"Ron I—_

_"I can't believe he has you convinced that you're some bad person!" _

_"I AM a bad person, Ron!" That finally did it. Harry broke down into tears._

_"I'm horrible… I… something's wrong with me!" Ron's heart broke for Harry. He was going to find the man and kill him. How did he convince him that he was so worthless!?_

_He reached for Harry's hand, "Listen Harry… you are the most genuine person I know." Harry's shining eyes looked to his hopefully, as if he was risking so much in daring to believe his words._

_"It's in your very nature to try and help other people, Harry. I doubt that will change anytime soon." He tried to give his friend a reassuring smile. He tried to ignore how his friend's utterly dismal face was making him feel angry and protective… and something else. _

_He tried to ignore how his eyes were constantly drawn to the redness of Harry's lower lip… or the way his hair was incredibly silken, yet still thick._

_"You really think so?" _

_Damn it. His hand was so hot. He could feel the flush creeping up his arm, his neck, and into his face._

_"Yeah, I do." _

_He told himself that it was a mistake, what he was doing. That despite what they did at school, they had grown in different directions. Besides, he had Hermione. But his skin was pale, his hair was dark, and his eyes were SO bright. As he leaned in towards Harry, those eyes simply watched his descent. And then, there was moist warmth. His lips were soft, but undeniably on fire. One hand reached for Harry's waist while the other found its way into Harry's thick locks. _

_"Ron…"_

_He could hear Harry's breath quicken. He felt a hand pushing on his chest, however weakly. He removed his hand from Harry's hair in order to grasp the hand, covering it in his warmth. He slowly stroked it into submission, bringing it down to his lap._

_He left those swollen lips and focused his attention on his jaw line. The man across from him squirmed, arching into his touch. His hand wandered down to the heat between the other man's legs. He heard the intake of breath, the slight whimper that was breathed into his hair. _

_"Ron…"_

_"Ron… this isn't right…" _

_He was mildly annoyed that Harry was more in tune with reality than he was. _

_"Its okay, Harry. You need this, we both do." He made his way to the milky stretch of neck underneath his ear. He felt an arm wrap around his shoulders, pulling him closer. Harry exposed his neck as an offering. God, the way Harry whined at his touch sent fire to pool and curl in his stomach and lower._

_God! This heat! _

_What was this energy that he was feeling in Harry that he had never felt before? He couldn't get enough of it! He could feel it burning his skin, bringing him to life. It was such an ecstatic feeling. If only he could have more! He wanted to feel that fire even more! _

_"NO!!"_

_Before he could register the ra__w outburst, he was on the floor, looking at the raven-haired man standing above him. Suddenly, the reality of the situation hit him right in the face._

_"Oh God! Harry, I'm so sorry! I don't know what I was thinking!"_

_The man above him was staring at him in disbelief. He was staring at him and yet, he wasn't. He stumbled back into the wall behind him without noticing._

_"I--I can't do this Ron, I can't!" _

"_Please Harry! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to take advantage!"_

_Harry began to hyperventilate, his hands rose to claw at his hair desperately._

"_What's happening to me?!" _

_Ron didn't understand. He was acting as if everything was his fault! He didn't know how he could convince him that he was entirely blameless_

"_Harry, please—_

"_I have to go! I--I have to get out of here!" Harry quickly made his way over to the door._

"_No, Harry! Please, I just—I don't know! It was just an instinct! I was just trying to comfort you!" Harry's hand stilled, a mere inch from the door, before it dropped to his side. He turned to him with broken eyes… _

_"By the way… …congratulations." _

_"How did you--where are you going, Harry?"_

_"… I don't know."_

_The door closed behind his fleeing best friend._

"Ow! Bugger!!" What in bloody hell was the piercing pain in his skull? He flailed, nearly bashing his head into the boulder behind him. Had he fallen asleep? He got gingerly to his feet, wincing at the ache in his arms and legs. Sleeping in the fetal position on the ground was not a good idea.

Movement to his left caught his eye. A black owl with glowing yellow eyes held an envelope in its beak. He snatched it away from the bird, the pain in his head still pulsing down his neck.

_Weasley,_

_Dumbledore has requested that we meet with him for a luncheon in three days' time. He apparently has propositions for us that are too good to refuse._

_Hope things are well,_

_Draco_

He didn't even have the capacity to contemplate what common request the professor could have for both Malfoy and him. He glanced down at his watch.

Shit. It was 10:40.

Hermione would be wondering where he was. He hated that this morning would simply be another disappointment for his wife. He stood to gaze again at what he considered to be a memorial, wondering if his life was truly and completely beyond any hope of repair.

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Hopefully this is a story that intrigues you. Feedback is always appreciated.

There's more to come!

Jocey


	3. A Hogwarts Reunion

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter Franchise is solely owned by one J.K. Rowling.

Author's Note: Hopefully, with this chapter, things are getting more interesting for anyone reading. I made vast steps of progress on the outline for this story. I'm really excited for where this is story is headed and hopefully you will be too over time!

Jocey

* * *

The front door to his home stared down at him in all of its mockery. The knocker was practically smiling at him. Everything about today was smiling at him. The sun was entirely too bright, the grass obnoxiously green, and the birds especially loud. Yup, everything about today expected him to grow up and enjoy his lot in life. He wasn't an idiot; he knew how he should be behaving. 

He couldn't deny that he was neglecting the life he shared with his wife and child. Thinking about it made his face go an ugly shade of puce. He knew it was time to rectify all the wrongs he had committed, or rather, the complete lack of rights.

He hung his head, staring at the ground. Maybe today was the day for him—the day for him to make everything better. Facing the door, he squared his shoulder before taking forceful steps up the stairs to open the door to his home and family.

The air in the front hall was warm and stale; a sign that summer was on its way. Mrs. Black was generally quieter in such weather since humidity stole her voice from her. He hung his coat on the rack to his left.

It was quieter than usual. He couldn't remember if Hermione had to work today. Before he could truly ponder this, the sound of clinking silverware from the kitchen and a hiccupping cough of an infant called from the kitchen, giving him his answer. The sound was comforting in some ways and terrifying in others.

He steeled himself for whatever his wife had to give him and crossed the doorway. However, screams and outrage didn't greet him. Instead, she was simply sitting at the kitchen feeding Madelyn some scrambled eggs, cooing little encouragements into her ear. The scene made his heart ache.

His wife was so beautiful and he couldn't think of anything more precious than the existence of his baby daughter. In some ways, their daughter had become a symbol of strength for them. Whenever they were at their lowest and most abysmal state, their daughter was a beacon for them to cling desperately to. For her sake, they continually broke themselves in their struggle against Lord Voldemort. It had been the only way they were able to rally themselves to join in the final rebellion against the Dark Lord in the Forbidden Wood. They had been absolutely terrified that night. But at the same time, their love had never been as fierce and strong for each other as it was when they stood together facing Voldemort's army of six thousand. It was that kind of ferocity that had gotten them through a night where either one of them could have very well died. They had tragically, yet miraculously survived thanks to the sacrifice of their absolute best friend and brother.

But now… they were broken, and he didn't know how to fix it this time. When, once, he was strong and she vulnerable, there roles now were utterly reversed. In his state, he was sinking to the point where Hermione could no longer reach his hand and prevent him from drowning. It was scaring her, he could tell. How would they make it if they were unable to communicate?

But there were things that he simply couldn't tell her—unresolved things that relentlessly burned at his soul. How could he recover from this… regret? He knew his wife wouldn't forgive him the circumstances of the situation. So he stayed silent, because he couldn't bear the thought of losing his wife and child.

Hermione looked up from their daughter. Her tired eyes took in his somewhat haggard appearance with mild disgust before she gave her attention back to their daughter.

"Hey." He attempted a greeting despite the dismissal.

He went to the refrigerator, looking for a beer. He stalled with his head in the cooler so that he could avoid his wife for just a few moments longer. However, he knew she wouldn't wait for his physical attention before she spoke.

"Where were you this morning?" Her voice was calm, already resigned despite the fact that he hadn't even offered an explanation yet.

"I had gone for a walk… at Hogwarts."

"Mmmm… visiting Harry?"

Why did they have to go through this when she already new the situation. It was sadistic, really—to the both of them.

"Uh… yeah. It's been awhile, so…"

He finally decided that he couldn't hide in the refrigerator any longer. He grabbed a beer and opened the can, sitting across from his wife and child. Hermione paused only a moment to eye the beer in his hand.

"It's not even noon, Ron."

He ignored her and took a swig anyway. Her lips tightened.

"So, I had an interesting morning today."

"Oh yeah, what happened?" He attempted lightness, since his wife was putting the same effort forth. Whether it was genuine or a ruse, he couldn't tell.

"Oh, I had to call the American representative for the Resistance and tell him I couldn't meet with him. That was fun!" She paused. He heard the anger, and the tears that were about to come.

"I had to tell him I couldn't meet with him because I didn't know where my husband was."

Shit. He had forgotten about the meeting. He was supposed to have watched Madelyn while she was at the meeting. It was their rule that Madelyn didn't leave the house due to the Death Eater plantings all over Europe.

He sighed tiredly. Her face was red and her eyes were bright. She waited expectantly for his reply.

"Look, Hermione… I'm sorry." She resumed feeding their child at a more frantic pace, not always getting the food into her mouth. She smiled and scoffed.

"I know, Ronald. You're always sorry. At least I can count on that!"

Her smile was vanishing as fear and anguish began its slow spread over her face. He looked down at his beer can, unable to look at his wife and see the pain he was causing her. He was ashamed, he wouldn't lie. But he also didn't know how to fix himself.

"Thing is, Ron, I don't need you to be sorry—I need you here! At my side—helping me raise our child!"

Madelyn began to cry at her mother's distress. Hermione ignored her as she attempted to push away from her mother's grasp. If anything, she held her daughter more firmly.

"I can't do all the work in this family anymore, Ron! Because I'm going to be honest, the way you are acting is absolutely terrifying me given the state of things… out there!" She made a vague, wild gesture to the kitchen window.

"We can't afford to be this weak and waste time, because I don't know how much time I have with you, Ron! You or I could be dead—TOMORROW!"

Her voice was hoarse, tired, and unbelievably scared. Tears welled in his eyes as the reality of his life hit him in the face. He was so close to losing everything dear to him. And then where would he be?

A sob escape his lips and he held his face in his hands, a sad attempt to hide his pathetic state from his wife.

"Hermione, I'm sorry!" He whimpered pitifully.

Her words stung, but they were the absolute truth, and he couldn't live in denial any longer. His brutal exposure of his pain to his wife seemed to alleviate her anger and calm her, though she still cried. She got up from the table, bringing their crying daughter to his side.

She brought her face to his, whispering desperately into his cheek, "Your daughter is growing up, Ron! And you're missing it!"

Her voice shook with pain. Crouching next to her husband with baby in tow, she rested her head against his forehead as they both cried.

"I'm so sorry, 'Mione! I promise… …I promise you!"

"Shhh… Ron. It's okay." She stroked his cheek lovingly.

"I'm just glad you didn't give up." She whimpered shakily, kissing his forehead, his nose, his neck, his lips. They were desperate signs of affection that he welcomed, but they were reminders of how neglected and alone his wife had been these last six months. He returned them with fervor.

"I was alone for so long, Ron. Please don't leave me here alone again. Because I don't think I could survive it." Her voice was firm and forceful, if trembling.

"I won't." He whispered into the next kiss.

"Promise me, Ron." She said, still firm.

"I promise you, Hermione." He smiled lovingly at her, and for the first time in a while, she did too.

She finally rose from his side with a trembling sigh. She handed him their daughter so she could grab the plate from the other side of the table. It was honestly the first time since she was born that he got to take a real look at his daughter. Her eyes were absolutely brimming with life, curiously taking in the features of her father. Her hair was brown like her mother's, but he could already tell that she had his own mother's eyes. They were sharp and slightly angled, but they were a gentle green that almost looked brown when not caught correctly by the light in the room.

"Hey, Maddie. I'm your daddy."

Hermione looked up at that in surprise, she smiled warmly.

"Hey Hermione… I got a letter from Malfoy this morning."

Her smile faded slightly, but there was genuine concern in her eyes.

"How is he doing?"

"I don't really know. It was pretty short. He says that Dumbledore wants to meet with the both of us at Hogwarts." She sat down, the plate forgotten for the moment.

"Did he say why?"

"No… I haven't the slightest idea what the man has in mind."

She sighed lightly, "Maybe it's a job."

"You think so?"

"You should go and find out. Money's short these days with the economy a complete disaster." He nodded his agreement, readjusting his arms around his daughter.

"Here, let me take her, and YOU go shower."

She smirked at him as she took the infant out of his hands.

"That bad, eh?" he said, giving himself a whiff.

"Oh yes." She laughed.

He got up gingerly from the table, still sore from his nap on the ground earlier that morning. He was about to disappear behind the doorway.

"I really did mean what I said, Hermione." He turned to face his wife and child. She smiled fondly.

"I know, Ron. Go Shower."

"Yes Mam."

Her smile faded when her husband disappeared up the stairway. She was happy to see her husband's face genuine again.

She swiped away the remaining tears in her eye. Hopefully, they would be able to rebuild their life from this moment on.

---

---

He sat in an office that he hadn't been in for well over a year. It was exactly the same. The fire still burned brightly, the portraits of previous headmasters and headmistresses still faked sleep while eavesdropping on conversation. A tiny dish of lemon drops still sat at the head of the desk in front of him.

Yup, it was all the same… and it made him sick.

He felt… sixteen again.

"My God, this place hasn't changed at all, has it?"

The hook-nosed man in the chair to his left quirked his lips slightly.

"Maybe you now realize why I've been so horrible to the little children over the years."

Draco rolled his eyes, not willing to hear the man's lame excuses for his behavior.

"You are not bound to this place, Severus. If it reminds you of your childhood as much as it reminds me, I don't see how you stand this place at all."

"Am I not bound, Draco? After all I've done, am I not bound to serve Albus until either the Dark Lord or he is dead?"

He had a point there. He really didn't know if they could ever triumph over Voldemort. If Harry was unable to defeat him with the power he had, he didn't know who or what was capable. He could understand Severus' hopelessness. It would very likely be at the time of Dumbledore's death when he could break free and control his own life. But then again, when Dumbledore died, all of them would probably be close behind.

"Well I suppose we'll know one way or another very soon now."

Severus scoffed, "Isn't it lovely."

Their musings were interrupted by sounds of jovial conversation and laughter behind them. Draco sighed, it was just like the man to have been keeping them waiting because he had other business to attend to. The door behind them opened.

--I say, Minerva, I haven't had that whiskey since Aberforth's twenty-first birthday!"

He heard Minerva's simpering giggle. He hated it when he witnessed their flirting.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy! I'm so glad you were able to find time in your schedule to meet with us." The old man took his seat at his desk, his benign eyes focused on Draco.

Minerva gave Draco's shoulder a slight squeeze.

"We'll catch up later, Mr. Malfoy. It's good to see you around these parts again." He gave her hand a return squeeze before she made her exit. Despite her being head of Gryffindor, he always secretly had a soft spot for the old woman.

His gaze found the old man sitting in front of him again. He didn't realize how angry he was at the man until his stupid, grinning face was staring at him. He wiped at his eyes as images of Harry encompassed in green light flashed dangerously through his mind.

"How have you been these last months, Mr. Malfoy?" There was concern, but it was only talk to keep the air polite before getting to what they were all really here for.

"I'm okay, Professor, I've been working for a small newspaper in London. I've been trying to stay under the radar."

He knew that it didn't make a difference either way. The only reason he was probably still alive now is because of the protection Dumbledore offered him.

"Please, I insist that you call me Albus at this point in our lives. You are hardly a student any longer."

"Albus, then." He bowed his head slightly with a small smile. He could tell the old man read the slight mockery in his gesture, but he didn't care at this point.

"And… do you know if Mr. Weasley will be joining us this afternoon?"

"I don't know. He never responded to the owl I sent him." The old man's eyes narrowed in thought.

"He received it though, since the owl came back without a response."

"Hmmm…" The man contemplated his desk for a long moment. Draco looked over to Severus, begging him silently for an escape. He merely raised an eyebrow in response.

"Well! I might as well get right to it." Draco sat up a little straighter at the raised voice.

"I have asked you and Mr. Weasley—

The door opened and then slammed behind them all.

"Well, Mr. Weasley, thank you for making it to our little gathering."

"Of course, Albus, I'm sorry I'm late."

Draco cringed as Weasley took a seat in the chair to his right. He absolutely reeked of alcohol. He tried to take in the other's appearance without him noticing. He was wearing a button down and some rather cheap corduroy pants. But all in all, he didn't look drunk. His tolerance must be exceptional these days.

"Not to worry, Mr. Weasley." The old man smiled fondly at the man to his right.

"Now! As I was saying, I asked you both here today because I want to offer you both new positions within the Resistance."

They both waited expectantly.

"I want you both to be recruiters." They waited for a more detailed explanation. None came, as he was staring just as expectantly back at them.

"What exactly does that entail, Albus?"

"Well, we have a series of underground centers across Europe and the United States for people to gather to, if they so desire. Three of which being Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang Academy." He popped a lemon drop into his mouth, pausing a moment to savor the taste.

"You would go to those checkpoints at designated times and try and rally people to our cause. You would have to keep them updated on the state of affairs concerning Voldemort, present to them our military strategy as of now, and basically, convince them that we are capable of defeating Voldemort and bringing him to justice." He smiled as if this all was obvious.

"And then once we have assembled a suitable army, I ask that the both of you might train them."

"Train them!" Weasley rose from his chair.

"Mr. Weasley, despite whatever your opinions may be, you two are the most powerful wizards and strategists that I have seen from your generation. You both are exceptional duelists and Weasley, it is because of your strategic genius and intuition backing our forces that we survived our last stand against the Dark Lord." Weasley sat back down. Compliments always did appease his wrath.

"And are we fit? To take on Voldemort, that is?" Draco asked, incredulous. Severus and Weasley both looked at him, shocked at his boldness.

"If we were prepared, Mr. Malfoy, I wouldn't need you two to fill these positions now, would I?" There was a moment of tense silence in the room. Draco knew he had offended Dumbledore, though the man, as ever, made no show of it.

White heat licked viciously through his veins and throat. Before he could scream and shout at the man smiling at him from his desk, he stood abruptly.

"Mr. Malfoy?" The old man played genuine bemusement across his face.

"Excuse me, Albus." He gave a short bow and left the room before any of them could see the hot tears forming behind his eyelids.

He made it down a few steps from the office before he collapsed to the ground.

'_God, I'm an utter mess._'

He wiped at his eyes viciously, ashamed of how quickly everything boiled to the surface—how quickly he found himself ready to break.

He couldn't deny that the old man inside was a military genius. But just the air of the man made him sick to his stomach. Did he not mourn at all for Harry? Whether for Draco's sake or not, the old man had made no mention of Harry. He had to honestly wonder if it weren't for Draco's sake at all, but merely a reflection of the man's cold-heartedness.

Despite everything he had learned over the years about the relationship between Dumbledore and Harry, he still didn't let himself completely accept the fact that all Harry had ever been in the old man's eyes… was a weapon. He had assumed that there would at least be guilt in the man's eyes. But there was nothing. Just that damnable cheery façade that he let anyone who didn't truly know him see.

The door opened behind him. His shoulders automatically tensed—he didn't want anyone to see him in this state.

"Hey, Malfoy."

"Weasley."

God, the alcohol was disgustingly radiating off of the figure who was taking a seat next to him.

"You smell like you've downed half a keg." The redhead's eyebrows rose at that.

"Yeah well, you still smell like a flowery pouf, so I guess we're even."

Draco scoffed, rubbing at his temples tiredly. They both sat in silence for a few moments, the news they received inside still somewhat of a shock to them both.

"We did it before… training an army, that is."

Weasley sounded hopeful, like this was an opportunity that he had been begging for.

"It was different then, Weasley… we were younger—naïve."

"Yeah, I suppose."

They both knew the unspoken reason was they had both lost someone dear to them. But even besides that, Harry and his power was a kind of light which lead them through the chaotic darkness. No matter what the situation was or how scattered the Resistance was in its determination, anyone could still just look at Harry and recognize him as their leader and savior. He was the Boy-Who-Lived, afterall.

It gave people hope. But they didn't have that hope any longer.

"How's your wife?"

Ron was considering his hands thoughtfully before answering, a sad hopeless smile on his face.

"As well as can be expected." His smile turned brighter and sadder at the same time.

"Madelyn's able to eat some solid foods now, though she still isn't really talking."

Draco could see the pain in the man's face. Despite how horrible the condition of their marriage sounded, the fact that Weasley was speaking of it with barely concealed remorse instead of unreadable passiveness was a step in the right direction, as far as he was concerned.

"You got yourself a good lot there, Weasley. Don't fuck it up."

"Yeah… I think everything will be okay." Draco turned fully to the man now and considered him. Was he really okay? Was Weasley making his recovery finally while he was still stuck in the same place?

"Well that's good to hear."

He smiled slightly at the man next to him. It really did warm his heart to hear that Weasley was making more of an effort for his wife and children, despite the drinking problem. It was the first bit of good news he had heard in quite some time. Weasley's face brightened considerably.

"C'mon, Malfoy! This could be good for us!" Draco sighed exasperatedly, trying not to let the other man's slightly drunk enthusiasm infect his sour mood.

"I don't know, Weasley." He ran his hand through his hair nervously.

"I don't know if I have what it takes anymore..."

He looked down at the students who were running down the hall to get to their next class. Compared to his life, they seemed utterly carefree. But even so, he was able to recognize that the hard times everyone was put through took its course on them. They were more mature, less giddy and obnoxious then he remembered kids being when he was in school. Instead they were all small smiles and quiet conversation. Where were the pranksters and the assholes!?

"Look at this lot! It's like a Sunday school!" Ron was distracted from his objective momentarily to observe the students, himself.

"Considering what they've been through, Malfoy, it's a wonder they're even smiling at all."

Draco knew that half of them probably had lost at least one family member over the last three years. Ron's eyes were alight again... he was distracted for only so long.

"Malfoy, C'mon! It might be really great for the both of us to have something to work towards again. Give us some much needed purpose, eh?"

Draco found himself smiling despite his best efforts.

"Fine!"

"Really!?"

"Yes, you can tell Dumbledore that I accept his proposal. But I'm going home. You can send me the details however you see fit."

"Alright then!"

Weasley jumped up and practically ran back into the office. Draco groaned at his own stupidity. The man's enthusiasm really could be infectious when he set his mind to it.

---

When he arrived back at his apartment all he really wanted to do was take a big nap and never wake up. The task set before him was daunting, to say the least, and his enthusiasm for it was already fading since leaving Hogwarts. His stomach growled and squirmed.

Damn it, Dumbledore never did feed him.

He sat at the kitchen table with a Daily Prophet in hand, trying to focus on the words instead of zoning out. There were apparently rumblings of the Dark Lord being in Russia. Draco already knew why he would be there despite the little detail given by the newspaper. That is where a majority of the giant and vampire populations made their home.

A shiver ran through his spine. The battle against Voldemort was life-threatening enough with just an army of Death Eaters. He shuddered at the thought of what damage he could do with giants and vampires in the mix.

His thoughts lead him to what he needed to accomplish and in what order they needed to be accomplished in. He knew that he should start at Hogwarts, setting up a recruit meeting for all of the seventh year students to attend. He hadn't the slightest idea about what he should do for motivational speaking. To be quite honest, he wasn't so motivated in this war—not anymore.

He rose from the table, yawning. He hadn't slept well the night before. Nightmares were always keeping him awake these past nights. But he hoped against hope, that maybe he was tired enough that he would sleep dreamless tonight.

He filled a glass with water and made his way into the bedroom. When ever he first walked into the room, he half expected to see Harry in bed, or reading at the desk. It was always a fleeting moment, but it happened reliably, nonetheless.

He collapsed on the bed, not even bothering to undress or to get underneath the blankets.

It was too hot for blankets.

He let the cool current from the kitchen wash over his back and cheek, and gratefully let slumber claim him.

Despite everything, the day hadn't been horrible, his talk with Weasley had made him feel better about the state of things… maybe this job would be good for him…

…

…

…

"_Harry, get up!" _

_Draco and Harry had been dueling for the last two hours. They went as hard and fast as they possibly could. It wasn't just a test of magical skill, but physical endurance. When the Death Eaters had first started making their regular attacks on citizens in London, they had arrived at the scene with Weasley, Granger, and Tonks. But these weren't the Death Eaters they had previously encountered, they no longer had to block attacks with defensive spells, they were simply able to dodge the attack by the slightest arch of their back and twist of their waist. They had mastered their bodies as well as their power. They not only cast spells, but also had formed a technique of martial arts that was backed by their magic. They were hit by flaming fists, and round-house kicks which turned their limbs to stone. _

_Draco was afraid they might die that night, as their strategy was such a shock. They had made a hasty escape. Ever since that night Draco had vowed that the Resistance would also become masters of physical power as well as magic._

_It really was a shock—the fact that Voldemort's strategy was embracing muggle tradition. But then again, he was half-blood, wasn't he. Such a move was almost as genius as anything Dumbledore could have conceived._

"_Harry, get up! Now!"_

_Harry was on his hands and knees gasping, bleeding from the mouth, and probably near passing out. He steeled his limbs and with a ragged intake of breath, he brought himself to his feet again. Cold eyes met Draco's, and for a moment he wondered if the look truly was meant for him._

"_Don't hold back, Draco."_

_He didn't hesitate._

_He shot a barrage of impaling curses at his prey. Harry lithely flipped and ducked out of the way of each respective strike with all the grace of a dancer. He was almost distracted by the progress Harry was making before pressurized acid shot directly at his face._

_Shit._

_He vanished in a flash of light, reappearing at Harry's back. His brandished wand immediately morphed into a chain of lightning. He swung it over his head before directing it at the other man's back. Sensing the danger at his back, Harry turned, meeting the whip's strike with a block of his wand just in time._

_He began closing in on Draco, jumping over or meeting each strike with his wand tip with a deafening crack. In between each throw of the whip, Harry managed to send fireballs at him. He cursed, now on the defensive, his whip striking down each projectile thrown at him._

"_Faster, Harry!" _

_Harry finally leapt into the air, floating about ten feet above Draco._

'_When had he learn to fly without a charm?'_

_He didn't have a second to contemplate it as Harry held his wand high, a flash of light as bright as the sun blinded him._

_Shit! He couldn't see anything. He sensed a presence at his back and automatically raised his wand to meet the other wand glowing with energy as sharp as a blade. He followed through with a kick to his head, which connected with a sickening crack. He heard, rather than saw Harry fly through the air and fall to the ground._

"_Damn it!" he heard the other's cracked voice._

_Harry was getting emotional, and that wasn't good. When he got emotional he got careless. His vision finally cam back to him._

"_Control yourself, Harry! You have to keep your sense of strategy."_

_He was surprised only for moment as a funnel of fire was directed at him. He didn't flinch. He captured it with the magnetic pull of his wand and then yanked back, taking Harry's wand with it, which was still connected to the spell._

"_Shit!" _

_Harry's wand lay ten feet from him, this would be the real test. If he could make a recovery from this, maybe he could make it out there. If he couldn't... well, in the real world, he'd be dead. __He saw the same dawning realization in Harry's eye. He didn't give him time to think. With a scream, he unleashed a wall of energy from his wand at Harry. Would he get his wand? He prayed that Harry could handle this._

_SLAM!_

_His spell felt like it had hit a brick wall. He saw through the waves of energy that Harry was holding it back without a wand!_

'_My God! Is this his potential?'_

_He knew now was the time to test Harry, to see how powerful he really was. With another thrust of his wand, he exerted even more energy upon Harry. The ground around them began to crack and fissure, the air practically humming in its attempt to get out of the way of these opposing forces. Hopefully, the Room of Requirement could handle it._

_Harry's feet sank into the tile floor with a crunch as he was rammed with even more gravity. He was afraid that if he gave up even a little in his resistance he would be crushed to death against the wall some thirty feet behind him._

_He was scared for his life. The man across from him, who had always been more powerful than he, was no longer holding back. _

_He was afraid, but something in him absolutely glowed at the challenge. He could feel it building in his stomach… this ecstatic feeling of power. It was the kind of feeling he imagined he would have before plummeting to his death on a rollercoaster—not that he'd ever been on one as a child. _

_He drew upon it with all of his will. He could feel the chemical makeup of the entire room around him. He was able to distinguish the exact elemental combination that every physical material in the room was made out of, including Draco. He could feel the frantic cells of Draco's heart multiplying and dying at a quicker rate so that his heart could pump faster. He could feel the electric nerve impulses running through Draco's brain, interpretting each spark of energy's meaning. All of this he could do simultaneously._

_With dawning horror he realized that everything in the room was utterly at his mercy—everything was completely vulnerable to his will. With the slightest thought he could manipulate the molecules of the stone beneath them until it turned into magma, and then his opponent would drown in its liquid flame. Unexpectedly, he found himself terribly frightened._

_Draco could hardly believe his eyes. The figure before him was radiating absolute power. He could see the almost invisible waves of energy gathering around Harry. It didn't even look like magic. It was as if the molecules in the air were simply reacting to Harry's very presence, bending to his will, bouncing off each other frantically, creating a molten heat that centered around this figure. _

_He saw the look of utter exertion splayed across his lover's face… and suddenly he was scared. _

_Was Harry smiling?_

_Harry was terrified—absolutely terrified. He never knew that he would ever possess this potential someday. And yet, he had never felt so complete in his entire life. It was like regaining a part of him that he hadn't been with since birth. He wanted to cry, he was so happy. He wanted to embrace his newfound essence and become whole again. _

_NO!_

_If he didn't stop, he would surely destroy the man before him! _

_He loved Draco!_

_Tears streamed down his face, his head swimming with sheer joy and horror. It was too much! He had to stop it!_

_With an air freezing scream, a shockwave erupted from Harry. It completely overwhelmed Draco's assault, the spell shattering piercingly under the pressure. Before Draco could register anything, he was carried off his feet and flung against the wall behind him with a crunch, and then there was the taste of blood on his lips. _

_The room was quiet except for the wrenching sob that came from his lover across the room. He heard his footsteps running to his side. He felt strong hands lift him and hold him against a warm chest._

"_My God! What have I done!?"_

_He felt tears hit his face. Why was Harry crying? He should be proud._

"…_so proud of you…" he reached for the hand at his side and gave it a weak squeeze._

"_NO! Look what I did to you! I'm horrible! I'm not even human!"_

_Draco simply let out a weak chuckle, he knew Harry was just shocked at the progress he had made._

"… _let's see the…" he cringed as a blinding pain shot up his rib cage._

"… _let's see the mighty Dark Lord take you on now, eh?"_

_He managed to open his eyes, wishing to gaze proudly into his lover's eyes._

_The gaze that met his shocked him. There was a terror in their depths… and something else… something else that wasn't Harry. The blood pumping so furiously hot through his veins a moment ago ran cold._

…

…

…

Draco's eyelids opened immediately. He hadn't screamed, but adrenaline was racing through his system. His forehead was cold with sweat and his fingers twitched against his will. His stomach was completely on fire with nausea.

He attempted to steady his breathing, reaching for the glass of water by his side on the nightstand. His thoughts were too frazzled to make note of the picture of the two of them on graduation day, as he usually did.

He swallowed the water down hurriedly, desperate to moisten the sandpaper that was his tongue.

Dueling…

That had been, without a doubt, the most intense duel of his entire life. Any duel on the field of battle could not possibly compare.

He groaned inwardly at the thought of trying to teach a bunch of lanky, weak seventh years how to duel properly. They were probably just barely adequate at the magical aspects, and light years away from where they would need to be physically. He knew that once they had recruited enough people, he and Weasley would have to devise an intensive boot camp program for them to attend. They would probably have to go to the United States in order to do so.

He lay back down against the coolness of his bed. He hoped Weasley was more than up for the challenge, because he honestly didn't know how much energy he had to give this task.

* * *

Another chapter done! Feedback is always much appreciated! 

I have the next seven chapters outlined to the very detail. So I should be able to get those chapters out in a respectable amount of time. However, the remaining chapters after that are more loosely constructed, so I will have to tighten up the details on those before I can actually start writing them. Though I know exactly where I want to end this story as I can picture the final chapters perfectly in my mind. So do not fear!

Thank you again!

Jocey


	4. Can't Wait Any Longer

Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter Franchise. This is a work of fandom.

Author's Note: This chapter was a little trickier than I expected. I had everything outlined and I knew where I was going. But the dialogue was harder to nail than I thought it would. Overall, though, this chapter is satisfying for me. We'll finally be getting the stuff I can't wait to write in the next couple of chapters!

* * *

There were approximately four hundred seventh years in the Great Hall. Draco was a little surprised. They had made stops to the four common rooms over the past week to pass word of the recruiters meeting tonight. Some students continued what they were doing, ignoring their presence completely. Some eyes were bitter, some were broken. There were only a handful of eyes that listened attentively—eyes that were still fierce with hope. He had expected maybe fifty students, at the most. 

Despite the welcome turn out, these were still the same students who eyed them skeptically as if they had stolen all of their candy. The tension in the room was palpable. Everyone was divided into small cliques, huddled around each other in hushed conversation. Every now and then a curious face would turn from the group to either eye Weasley, who was talking quietly with Dumbledore at the podium, or at Draco, who stood in the back of the hall in an attempt at discreetness. The ceiling above them was cloudy and rumbling, though there was no lightning or rain. No doubt, the lightning would come once everyone in the hall decided that he and Weasley were out of their minds and should be cursed into oblivion.

"Nice turn out, isn't it, Mr. Malfoy." He recognized the woman's wry tone and smiled.

"Good evening, Minerva."

She settled at his side against the wall. He took the moment to make note of the cane in her left hand. His heart felt heavy at the realization that the woman next to him was growing frail.

Despite his general animosity towards everything about his childhood, there were a few choice adults that he didn't ever want to lose. Minerva was one of them, Severus another, and if he really let himself dwell on the matter, he supposed that big lug Hagrid as well. The idea of them growing old and weak frightened him, because it meant he wasn't a kid anymore. Even with all he had faced in the last two years, he still didn't accept the responsibility of adulthood without a bit of a stubborn fight.

"Weasley is a bit excited for tonight."

"Well, considering I haven't seen that look on the boy's face since graduation night when honey glazed ham was served for dinner, we'll just take it as a sign of good things to come, shall we?"

He let himself smile at that, still grazing the heads of the students, taking note of the potential prospects. Some looked like no's, some maybe's, and more than a handful of definitely-not's. His eye was scanning Gryffindor's table when he caught a brown-haired boy staring at him curiously, longer than any of the other students did. Before he could determine whether or not the kid might join their forces, the boy realized that he had his attention and quickly looked to the front of the hall.

'_He's a possibility.'_

The two men up front had finally finished their preparations and Dumbledore took his place at the podium, simply gazing intently to the center of the room, waiting for everyone's attention.

Considering the frantic vibe in the room, it was only a few moments before everyone immediately hushed and looked to the headmaster expectantly.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the student body leaders of this institution, I thank you for taking the time out of your, no doubt, busy friday nights in order to hear from an alumnus who graduated just a few short years ago."

Absolute silence. Dumbledore continued smiling warmly as if he had just invited them to a wonderful feast. Hopefully the students weren't so blind to his true intentions.

"I have worked with Mr. Weasley many a time over these past years in our struggle against the Dark Lord. He is a superb wizard who I would be apprehensive to come across in a duel, and he has been one of the main strategists working for our forces that, if it weren't for his skill, this school may have very well been at the mercy of Voldemort." His smile brightened, considering this very good news, indeed.

Draco rolled his eyes. He was awfully cheery considering the grim subject matter.

"Please, give a warm welcome to Mr. Ronald Weasley!"

Polite applause filled the hall. So far so good, never mind the rain that had begun falling from the ceiling.

"Thank you, Professor… and thank you, students…"

Draco could already tell that whatever Weasley's original intentions, he was no longer certain of the points he wanted to make to the mass of waiting faces before him.

Agonizing, awkward silence.

"Please don't freeze up now, Weasley." He rubbed at his neck tiredly. Minerva offered him a sympathetic glance before she gave her attention back to the podium.

Weasley was fidgeting slightly with his sleeve, however discreetly.

'_Oh God... maybe this was a mistake._'

But then he saw the narrowing of the man's eyes. He stood a little taller. And finally, he spoke.

"Six months ago, I was standing on these very grounds with almost one thousand other people, who, like me, were about to die at the hands of Lord Voldemort and his three thousand man army."

He paused, looking down at the podium and swallowing.

His gaze rose back, more intense.

"We survived that night. We survived because of the sacrifice of a man who was absolutely tired of having his life ruled and controlled by Voldemort's presence."

The students exchanged nervous glances with each other, no doubt, surprised at the mention of what was normally considered a taboo topic of conversation.

"I think you all know whom I refer to. His name… was Harry Potter."

A hum of excited murmurs filled the hallway. Despite his own personal feelings, Draco knew mention of Harry was a good tactic.

Ever the strategist…

"He died that night… so we could live."

He could tell that Weasley was getting emotional, which either would work for them, or against them. But considering Weasley's slightly boozed state, he just prayed he kept enough composure so as not to scare off their audience.

"I remember feeling a lot of things that night—I remember feeling absolutely terrified, that my wife and I would never live to see our daughter grow up. I remember how much it tore at my heart that everything my parents and my friends' parents had dedicated their whole lives to might turn out to be for nothing."

A pause.

"But I also remember the molten fire that tore at my soul—giving me the courage to stare death in the face."

He was growing louder now. The students' eyes were fixed on the figure before them avidly.

"I remember that night I swore I would use every last breath in my body to witness the end of Voldemort's reign! I swore! So that my daughter, and my daughter's children, and every generation of humanity that came after me would be able to live in a world not charred by violence and hate!"

Draco's heart ached. The man's pain was so apparent to him. He wasn't so sure that if their positions were reversed he would be able to keep himself as well controlled.

"That same fire still burns in me to this day! And I'm asking you this night, is there something in each of your own lives so precious as to ignite that same flame in you."

His eyes wandered over the students, noting how each took the man's words. Some were crying—but they were not tears of broken people, they were tears of fury.

He smiled. Maybe there was hope.

He was about to focus his attention back on Weasley's words when he saw him. The same boy was staring at him again. His eye brow rose in question. Having been caught again, the boy started. Much to Draco's offence, the boy's eyes hardened before turning back to the man at the podium.

He leaned to his side, "Minerva, who is the boy sitting at the end of Gryffindor table?"

The woman didn't respond right away, clearly swept up in Weasley's speech. She finally turned a little dazed.

"What did you say, Mr. Malfoy?"

"I said who is the boy sitting at the end of Gryffindor table?"

She took a moment to search through the heads before she landed on the boy he intended.

"Ah, that is Travis DuPont. Smart boy. Bit surprised he isn't in Ravenclaw, to be honest."

"He's been staring at me all night."

She nodded slightly, as if that made sense to her.

"He idolized Harry quite a bit, dear. But not in your typical sense."

Draco waited expectantly, now very curious.

"Well, he's an orphan too, you see. He's had a rough lot at life, that one—and considering Harry's story, that's saying something."

Draco shifted uncomfortably at the mention of Harry's childhood.

"What do you mean?"

She turned back to him, clearly half expecting that had been the end of their conversation.

"Well his parents died when he was very young. A foster family had taken him in, but after a few years, they weren't in the financial position to keep him. So he was stranded again when he was thirteen. He's been living by himself in Diagon Alley ever since."

Draco's eyes narrowed, "I thought there were only shops there."

"Oh yeah, that and apartments above the shops for the shop-owners. The kid works in a bar right outside Nocturne Alley."

"Hmmm.." He digested the news. He supposed it wasn't abnormal for the boy to find comfort in sharing similarities with someone as idolized as Harry.

He gave his attention back to Weasley.

--for those of you who decide to attend boot camp, you will be put through excruciating physical training, and you will truly come into your magical potential."

Weasley was smiling proudly now, confident that he had struck a chord with his audience.

"After that, if you decide to join our forces, you will then be trained in military strategy."

"And what exactly is your strategy?"

It was the boy from before. Draco hadn't expected him to be one of the cynics.

Ron hesitated only a moment, not really expecting anyone to ask questions.

"Well, there are different groups that we would train—some would be trained to go on solo missions in an attempt to capture known Death Eaters. Some would be trained in defensive strategy—that would include learning defensive spells for our side, but also having extensive knowledge in how to break and undo curses cast by the enemy."

He pulled at his collar, an obvious show of his nervousness.

"Then there is the offensive, which works in group attack formation as well as solo. In solo, that would mainly be expert mastery of dueling. Depending on your rank, you would be assigned to take on the ranking officers of Voldemort's army—

"I guess my real question is—can we defeat Voldemort?"

Much to Weasley's credit, his eyes grew just as hard as the boy's sitting below him.

"I believe we can, with every fiber of my being."

At that, the boy quieted, though Draco could see the boy wasn't convinced by Weasley's sincerity.

"Now I know that we have much to be scared of—that there is so much to lose in going to war."

Ron's tones were hushed now; he was staring down at his hands before him.

"But we have much to lose no matter what we do."

Finally his eyes rose, angry wetness rimming his eyes.

"Will you not fight… for what you love?"

Silence…

"Will you not fight?"

Weasley's shoulders relaxed slightly. It seemed that he was done. There was a fleeting pause before the entire hall erupted into applause. Weasley's eyes widened in shock, surprised that he was such a success. He smiled slightly and bowed before taking his descent from the podium to allow way for Dumbledore.

"Thank you! Thank you, Mr. Weasley, for that honest and heartfelt speech."

"Now I know all of you have your nights to be getting on with, so I won't keep you much longer. I only ask that if you are interested in what Mr. Weasley offers that you put a check next to the list of names we have assembled on the faculty table so we can get a general idea of what numbers from Hogwarts are interested in attending the boot camp."

In an eruption of noise, the students immediately rose from there seats, conversing loudly with whoever was right next to them.

"Just one more moment, seventh years!"

A hush fell again.

"For those interested, the details regarding your training will be sent to you at a later date by means which I can't disclose for security purposes, of course."

The old man regarded them one more moment with fond, twinkling eyes.

"And now I wish you a fond farewell, and a good night!"

In the most inefficient way possible, the students lined up at the faculty table to check their names off of the list.

"Seems Mr. Weasley is quite the motivational speaker, isn't he, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco fixed the woman with a shrewd smile.

"You seem amused, Minerva." Her hazel eyes brightened considerably.

"Just remembering the days when he couldn't put together a fierce sentence without a bit of foul language."

Draco laughed. Weasley certainly had become more articulate in recent memory.

"I'll take my leave now, Mr. Malfoy. Hopefully I'll be seeing you more often from now on."

"Good night, Minerva"

He watched the frail woman take her leave into the hallway, mostly out of fondness, slightly out of protectiveness.

"Will you look at 'em, Malfoy! There got to be three hundred, at least!" He looked in front of him at the stupid grin staring him in the face.

"Stop it, Weasley. They aren't cattle that we're herding."

He felt that in some ways, they were. So stating otherwise made him feel a little better in what they were participating in. Weasley, nevertheless, was hardly paying him any attention.

"Imagine the numbers we could get at Beauxbatons and Durmstrang! Those schools are twice the size of Hogwarts!"

Draco rolled his eyes, happy despite how tired he felt. It had been a long week, to say the least. Now that Hogwarts was done with, before moving onto their next conquests, he hoped to crash for a month…or a year.

"Aw, c'mon Draco! This is good what we're doin' here!"

"Yeah, you're right." He tried to ignore the fact that it was the first time the other man had ever called him by his first name. Just by the very laws of tradition, it felt innately wrong out of the other man's mouth, but it still felt good to be regarded closely by another person. It suddenly hit him again how incredibly alone he was.

"Hey mate, what's wrong?" He was quiet for another moment before he shook his head at the floor.

"It's nothing… it's just, you called me Draco."

The other man tensed, clearly taking it to mean he had offended him.

"No, it's good… great, actually. It just surprised me." He continued smiling at the floor in order to hide the hurt that had come out of nowhere while the other looked down at him in bemusement.

"Hey Draco, you wanna hit the pub?"

Draco sneered slightly, looking up, "Weasley, you hardly need anymore alcohol—though it did give the ferocity to your speech that it needed."

At that, the other man laughed. First time Draco had heard that in a while.

"Yeah, you could be right. But on the other hand, I have legitimate reasons to celebrate tonight."

Damn this man and his infectious nature. Draco's lips quirked against his will.

"Alright, let go."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Alright!" The man roughly grabbed him around the shoulder to disapparate.

"Where to?"

Draco firmly removed the hand from his shoulder.

"We can't disapparate on school grounds, Weasley. We can use the floo in Dumbledore's office. There's a good place right by my apartment in London."

They knocked at the headmaster's door, having spent a good ten minutes guessing the password. As it turned out, the password had been Fuddwink, a candy that the Weasley twins had just introduced to the world.

"Come in."

Draco tentatively pushed the doors open, the headmaster was at his desk intensely studying a bunch of papers strewn out haphazardly across his desk. After a few more moments, his head rose to greet his guests. He seemed tired.

"Ah! Well done, you two! Well done, indeed!" He rose quickly and made his way to them, clasping each of their hands firmly.

"I can't begin to tell you how helpful your efforts are to our cause. Truly!"

"Really, Albus, Weasley here deserves most of the credit. It was quite the speech."

Weasley turned a blotchy red.

"It was at that, Mr. Weasley. I was most impressed."

Weasley shook his head, chuckling a tad manically.

"I was scared shitless, if I'm to be frank, Albus."

The old man's smile widened.

"And you still persevered, Mr. Weasley. Quite a gift."

"It is a talent that I, myself, am not quite master of."

Draco had a hard time believing the old man was ever scared of anything. His sharp nature most likely allowed him to get out of any unwelcome situation he found himself in.

"So what can I do for the two of you, hmm?"

"Actually, we just need to use your fireplace to floo out of here. We were going to get a drink."

"And what a night it is for a bit of celebration." He lead them over to the fireplace. Weasley promptly stepped in, calling out rather idiotically, "Draco Malfoy's apartment." Draco was about to step in when the hand on his shoulder tightened. He looked over his shoulder at the old man.

"I just thought I would let you know, Mr. Malfoy. The aurors have closed the investigation on Harry's death. They are going to start rebuilding the location to its original state within the next week."

"Oh…" Draco carefully arranged his face into mild surprise as not to let on to the old man.

"I just thought you should know Mr. Malfoy. It might be a good chance for you to make a new start."

Draco's face flushed at that. "What makes you think I haven't made a new start, Albus?"

The old man sighed tiredly. "Things are ever changing in our lives, Draco. It's best not to miss the experiences presented to you while you still have the chance."

Draco's lips tightened. "Well, thank you, Albus. I'll certainly remember that."

The old man smiled gently before releasing his shoulder. He stepped into the fire, his destination in mind.

He stumbled into his own apartment, covered in soot. He hadn't made the most graceful transition through the floo network, the old man's words still ringing in his mind. He walked the short way into his bedroom, surprised to see Weasley looking about curiously.

"Excuse me, Weasley. But bedrooms are generally considered a personal space."

The other man ignored him, still circling around the room with a mild smile on his face.

"This is quite the place, Draco. I'm surprised you're able to afford it with the payroll you get from that newspaper you're working for.

"I'm paid by the word, actually."

The redhead looked up, mild astonishment across his face.

"I've been doing freelance for several papers, so they have to pay me by the word."

Weasley nodded his head, impressed.

"Well, even so, it's a lot of space for one person."

"Well I guess it was for two people at one point, wasn't it, Weasley.""

The other man's cheer lessened somewhat.

"Oh yeah… that would make sense, I suppose."

The night was quickly turning to shit ever since that bastard rubbed it in his face that Harry was dead. He wanted to forget that and just focus on their victory tonight.

"C'mon, let's go. The bar is just a couple blocks away."

He closed the door behind Weasley on his very empty but nice apartment.

"Wow muggle London is a lot different than I expected."

They had just passed a club with a line down half the block. The strobe lights on the sidewalk had fascinated Weasley.

"Honestly, Weasley." The man was just staring down at the flashing ground in front of him in awe. He grabbed him by the arm and dragged him away.

"Try to blend in a little, will you?"

"Sorry."

Draco stopped the other man short in front of a quiet looking tavern. The double doors and trim around the large window were painted green, but it was wearing in certain places, revealing the warm maple wood beneath it. Across the window read "Oakland Tavern" in rusty, gold trim paint.

"Hey!"

Draco turned to the man on his left with a start. He seemed surprised.

"What?"

"This is the place that I always used to meet Harry at after work, I didn't realize it was here."

Draco's eyebrow rose, "You guys used to meet here?"

"Yeah… I knew it was called the Maplewood or Oak Mills or something, but I couldn't remember where it was."

"Mmmm…"

He opened the door for the man expectantly in an attempt to break him out of his reverie. Weasley ignored him, still in slight awe. He saw it in the tightness of his stance, the way he curled and uncurled his fists a few times… the hardness of his eyes. He recognized the signs because it was the same appearance that he took on when a memory of Harry invaded his mind so forcefully without him expecting it.

"Let's just get some ale, alright Weasley?"

"Yeah, sure."

Upon entering, Draco was surprised at how empty the place had grown over the last couple of months. Usually there were at least a couple of tables occupied by drunken guys from the local university. Now only an elderly couple sat a table in hushed conversation, while a tired middle-aged man in a suit sat at the bar with a scotch.

"Wow… this place has gone down hill lately."

"You aren't kidding… jeez."

Draco flushed at being associated with this demographic.

"Hey, it serves alcohol, alright. Let just grab a couple of stools."

The barkeeper took immediate notice of the two men sitting down, particularly of the blonde. He smiled, having not seen him in a good two months.

"Well, Draco! I thought you died or something!"

Draco started at the enthusiastic greeting, looking for the source of the greeting before settling on the man at the end of the bar. He returned the smile warmly. If he let himself think about it, he couldn't deny that Ralph was one of the few muggles who actually knew Draco to some extent. Draco didn't dwell on the fact that it was because of how often he stopped at this bar.

"Hey Ralph, how've you been?"

"Pretty good. Actually really great! I guess you don't know because I haven't seen you, but I'm opening up my own place."

Draco grinned, "Wow, really? That's great!"

While the two were catching up, Ron took it as an opportunity to study the other man. Blonde hair, blue eyes, and dark skin. Certainly attractive, and most certainly interested in Draco. Ron grinned, he was flirting just as obviously as the barkeeper was. This would be interesting.

"So what can I get you two?" Ralph's eyes were on Ron.

"Oh, me? Uh… I guess I'll just have a beer. How 'bout you Draco?"

Draco was looking back at him with a peculiar look. He looked happy for sure, or something… he couldn't put a finger on it.

"How bout we do some shots?" Draco hoped that the answer would be yes. Talking to Ralph had been a first good step towards erasing the old man's words from his memory, hopefully a little alcohol would do the rest of the trick.

_The aurors have closed the investigation on Harry's death…_

_He's dead, Mr. Majfoy…_

_He'll never come back…_

"Uh, sure you up for that, Draco? What kind of shots you have in mind?"

Draco ignored him, turning to Ralph, "How bout a round of tequila shots for me and Mr. Weasley here."

"Wow, you've had a change of heart have you?" Weasley smirked.

"It wouldn't happen to be because of the man who's been fawning over you since you walked in the door, would it?"

Draco turned scarlet, not having expected that from Weasley. He was just thankful the man in front of them hadn't overheard them.

"What exactly are you implying, Weasley."

Weasley's smirk widened into a goofy grin.

"Only that you guys were practically slobbering over each other the moment we walked in here!"

Ralph interrupted them, a tray of tequila shots set before them.

"Here you go, fellas."

"Just shup up and drink, Weasley." He took two shots from the tray in front of them, adding a dash of salt to each. They clinked glasses before downing them.

Draco sighed as the burning sensation worked down his throat, erasing the hurt that had attached itself, leaving behind a warm glow.

"Wait, we didn't drink to anything, Malfoy!"

Draco took two more shots, handing one to Weasley.

"What do you want to drink to?"

"I don't know… to the fact that we're still alive… that my family's still alive."

Damn it. Weasley was getting sentimental, that was not what tonight was supposed to be about. Never mind the fact that he didn't have any remaining family to drink to.

"To your family, Weasley." He downed the second shot, feeling the its slow warmth crawl into his face.

Weasley took the initiative to go for the third shot. As Draco's head began to swim, he decided to sit a couple out.

"I have a lot to be thankful for, don't I…"

Draco knew what he spoke of—his wife and child.

"Yeah… you do."

He downed the shot before reaching for another, not bothering with the salt.

"I should be a happy man, right? Considering everything, my life isn't so bad…"

Draco gave in and reached for another shot, "What are you getting at, Weasley?"

His head was swimming now. Shit. He was done for the night. He almost laughed outloud as he recalled the time his low tolerance made itself know to Harry. He had never lived it down.

The man abruptly burped before reaching for another shot, "don't know what I'm getting at…"

"Wow, easy Weasley. You just did five shots in about three minutes."

"We made a fresh start in our marriage…"

Draco stayed silent, still unsure of what the man was getting at.

"Told her… going to rededicate myself to her and Madelyn… help her raise our daughter, like… supposed to…"

Draco could see the alcohol was having the intended effect. He suddenly regretted his rash decision. Weasley made for a lousy, contemplative drunk.

"Of course you are. You're her father. I'd think less of you if you didn't."

"What if… what if I told you I did something that Hermione might not be able to forgive… that you might not be able to forgive…"

Draco turned to the man fully now. Tension suddenly wracking his frame.

"What are you saying?"

The man's drunken eyes widened in horror, realizing what he was about to reveal. He cursed the drink for making it so hard to keep it in any longer.

"What if I told you that I was in love with Harry and that I had kissed him the night you two had dueled."

Ice ran through Draco's veins at the other man's words. He had kissed Harry? Had Harry responded? Was it something on both their ends? He swallowed the bile that threatened to come up his throat.

"… So that night when you had come to me, talking about how Harry didn't want to fight anymore… was that you trying to break us up?"

Tears were leaking out the other man's eyes now.

"No… it was the truth. He was scared… I don't know what of. But he had just said that he'd be more harm than help in the war…"

Draco was barely listening to the other's slurred speech. He still couldn't get the visual out of his mind—of Harry giving into this man's kiss… into his touch. He couldn't even process the idea of Harry giving himself to another person. Harry was supposed to have been completely his. And he was supposed to belong completely to Harry!

Ron finally looked up at the man next to him. What he was about say tore at his very being, but he had to say it for the other man's sake.

"He chose you, Draco." He laughed hopelessly.

"He was utterly in love with you until the very last moment."

Draco took comfort in the words… but he still couldn't understand what point Weasley was trying to make. Did he just want him to know he tried to steal his man?

"Why are you telling me this?"

Ron reached for another shot, swigging it back quickly. His face scrunched up, rather because of the alcohol or because of his newly falling tears.

"How am I supposed to make a marriage work, when I'm still so completely in love with the man!?"

The man finally collapsed into a convulsing heap on the counter.

"Alright, Weasley. I think you've had just about enough." He hauled him to his feet. A rather difficult task considering the sobbing mess wasn't putting any weight on his feet, whatsoever.

He reached into his pocket, hoping he had enough money on him.

"Don't worry Draco, consider it a welcome back gift." Ralph smiled sympathetically at his predicament.

"Thanks Ralph, I owe you one."

He dragged the man by his shoulder outside to the sidewalk. The cool air of the evening was refreshing to his warm and spinning brain.

"I should go, Malfoy…" the head beneath him slurred.

"Oh yeah? And I'm to let you drunkenly splinch yourself while you try to dissaparate home?"

Weasley barely grunted a murmured agreement.

"Where are you living these days, Weasley?"

No response. Shit. He passed out. He was mildly disappointed at the other man's tolerance. For an alcoholic, six shots should have been nothing. He wondered if the man was still living at Grimmauld Place. But he knew there was no chance of finding it without a secret keeper present.

"I guess you're coming home with me then."

With a crack, they reappeared in Draco's unlit apartment. He somewhat clumsily reached for his wand in his back pocket while trying to keep the man he was holding up from falling to the ground in a drunken, unmovable heap. He finally got a grip on it and flicked it at the light switch, lighting the room.

"Why didn't he love me…"

Bloody hell. Hopefully he wouldn't talk in his sleep all night.

He dumped him somewhat gracelessly on the couch. Covering him with the thin, worn out blanket that he kept in the living room…

…Harry's blanket.

He went to the refrigerator to grab himself a bottle of water. He had only done—well, he couldn't remember how many shot he had done. But he certainly did less that Weasley. And no matter how pathetic an amount he had done, he still didn't want a hangover in the morning. He smiled slightly as he recalled again how Harry would harass him endlessly for drinking hangover water when he wasn't even that drunk.

All in all, the night hadn't been a complete disaster. Actually, no—finding out that your lover's best friend was actually in love with him was pretty horrendous, to say the least. But he really couldn't bring himself to be truly outraged at the situation. Harry was dead, so why would he waste his time being mad over the fact. Harry had loved him. Weasley said so, himself.

He quickly splashed water on his face before crossing the doorway to his much missed bed. Maybe he could hibernate for a year before traveling anywhere else to recruit. The Dark Lord was busy in Russia recruiting God-knew-what, so he should have some time to crash.

He almost laughed at the cavalier way in which he spoke of the war. He knew people were dying in the most heinous way possible. But he figured the sacrifice he had made exempted him from having to feel anything ever again. He sighed as the pillow beneath his cheek grew warm under his body heat.

…Hopefully Weasley wouldn't be obnoxious in his hangover the next morning…

---

---

At first, it had started as a soft thudding—a gentle drum playing a lullaby in the crook of his ear. But then, ever so persistently, a pulsing pain pressed on his head, his temples, his eyes, his neck… everywhere.

He opened his eyes, his vision still swimming lightly from the drink. He looked over into the kitchen, looking for a clock.

Shit. It was 3:30 in the morning.

He got up from the couch gingerly, careful not to make any noise. He didn't want to wake Malfoy up. The idea of facing the other man now was absolutely humiliating. He checked his pants pocket—wallet, keys, and wand. Good, he hadn't lost anything.

He quietly slipped into the kitchen, rummaging through the cupboards. He desperately wanted a drink of water before he left. He settled on a coffee mug and turned on the faucet. He flinched, nearly dropping the cup. The faucet was painfully loud. He turned it down to a drip, filling his cup.

He let the water wash out the taste of tequila and the rest of the horror that this night had turned out to be. He couldn't believe how much he had said… to Draco of all people! He placed the cup on the counter, wishing to leave the apartment as soon as possible. He reached for his wand to disapparate, hesitating only for a moment.

He had told Hermione that he would be home late. She probably went to bed around eleven.

He went outside the apartment to the hallway, hoping not to wake Draco by disapparating. With a crack, the man disappeared.

He reappeared in front of 12 Grimmauld Place.

The kitchen light was on.

He swallowed the lump building in his throat and quickly made his entrance into the front hallway of the apartment. He startled visibly at the welcome he received from Mrs. Black. Apparently, she got her voice back in the evenings.

"HOW DARE YOU ASSOCIATE WITH THE LIKES OF THOSE DISGUSTING HALFBLOODS! I SWEAR, BY THE NAME OF MY ANCESTORS THAT I WILL SEE YOU BLOOD TRAITORS ROT!"

Ron assumed that his wife was now aware of his presence. He appeared in the doorframe to the kitchen. She was in her nightgown, sipping at a glass of water while staring at the table. He didn't know if he should wait for her to acknowledge his presence or simply act like nothing was wrong.

"I'm glad to see you're alive, Ron." She finally looked up at him with a blank expression. She looked as if she had been crying. But tears no longer fell down her face.

She was all out of tears.

"Of course I'm alive, Hermione. Draco and I had just gone out to get a drink to celebrate tonight."

"You mean this morning."

Ron scratched at his head absently.

"Well… yeah, I guess. We were just having a bit of a good time. See, we got at least three hundred students to sign up for the boot camp at Hogwarts and---

"So you thought it was more important to go out and get drunk instead of returning home to your wife and child?"

He didn't have an answer for that.

"What was I supposed to think, Ron? Was I supposed to think that you had been killed on your way home from work?"

He didn't know what to expect. Normally, this would be where she would grow angry, and start shouting at him all the different disappointments he had been to her or Madelyn. But now… her face just seemed exhausted.

"c'mon Hermio---

"Look, Ron. I don't want to get into this with you."

She rose from the table to empty out her glass in the sink, pausing momentarily to stare out the window at the street below them.

"You really had me convinced the other morning."

"Hermione, I meant what I said."

She turned to him, smiling sadly.

"You probably did, Ron." Her composure was cracking, he could tell. Her eyes were wild and hurt. But her voice was so soft.

"But that doesn't change the fact that you're still letting me down, Ron. And I really can't afford to waste all my energy trying to convince you that we're worth the effort—not when I have Madelyn to raise."

Her face was carefully controlled.

"What are you saying, Hermione?"

"…I'm leaving you, Ron." The crack in her voice revealed how much it hurt for her to say what she was saying.

It felt as if a bucket of cold water had just washed through his insides.

"You—what?"

"I'm taking Madelyn and I'm leaving, Ron. I'm moving in with my parents." She was already making her way for the exit before he could even register what she had said.

He blocked her path. Her blank composure finally broke, fuming eyes turning to his in accusation.

"You're not stopping me, Ron!"

"Y-you can't leave, Hermione! You can't take Madelyn from me!"

Her eyes grew wide and feral, she slapped him across the face with a shriek. Before he could even recover from it, another slap found his other cheek.

"I am not going to stay here one more second, Ron! I am not going to stay another second and try to convince you that you're still in love with me!"

He sank to his knees, defeated. He rubbed his cheek, hurting for reasons far greater than the sting she had caused. It had been six months worth of frustration in that slap. And to his utter anguish, he realized how much of a failure he was for Hermione and their daughter.

"I loved Harry too, Ron. But he would have been ashamed of the man you had turned into. He would have been ashamed that you carelessly threw away what he so desperately longed for his entire life!"

Those were the last words she spoke to him. He didn't bother turning to see her flee up the flight of stairs. He could hear the cries of Madelyn as she was wakened by her mother, the rumble of luggage being moved around on the second floor, and then the crack of a woman and child who had disappeared out of his life altogether.

* * *

Feedback is always much appreciated!

Jocey


	5. Death and Resurrection

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter franchise belongs strictly to one J.K. Rowling.

Author's note: I really enjoyed writing some of the stuff in this chapter. Although, for some peculiar reason, I kept screwing up the verb tenses in one particular scene. I had written the entire chapter in perfect tenses simply because it's third person narrative. But then, all of a sudden, against my will, everything I typed was in simple present! It was annoying to have to go over everything to make sure I didn't miss any verbs. And then I was doubting all my other chapters, so I went back to check those as well!

So I checked this chapter many times, but just in case, I apologize for any confusing verb situations, though I don't think there are any!

Thank you, again!

Jocey

* * *

The old man had given him one of the unused classrooms for an office. For the last two days he had been filing the students according to what class they were exceptional in. Elizabeth Harron, Slytherin, her top grades in Transfiguration would be good for stealth missions. Daniel Weston, Hufflepuff, excelled in both Defense Against the Dark Arts and Herbology. If he was trained right, he'd be proficient as a curse breaker and capable on-site healer. 

Draco slumped in his chair, having been sitting at the desk since seven o'clock. It was now one in the afternoon…

He honestly didn't think he was capable of looking at one more student profile. There were only a select few that excelled at anything useful. Everyone else would have to be trained in basic combat. His concave stomach rumbled, childishly demanding food. He downed his now cold coffee before rising. He had to get out of the room before it swallowed him whole.

He wandered lazily through the corridors—partly exhausted, partly enjoying the entertainment, witnessing Peeves drop a bucket of cow manure onto an unsuspecting second year.

"Well, if it ain't itty bitty Draco, the dragon." Peeves could always remember every person who had once walked these halls, even if they had graduated three years ago.

"Don't you dare, Peeves. I'm only on my second cup of coffee this morning."

"Why it's one hour the evening, scaly sir!" He bounced up and down, hovering above Draco as he entered the entrance hall.

"So you can imagine how dangerous I am right now."

He stopped short, the silver mane of the old man had caught his eye.

Was that Granger?

He stepped discreetly behind a group of gossiping fourth years.

"Of course, Ms. Granger, you are always welcome here. You needn't explain anything."

Granger had her daughter in her arms, slumbering peacefully against her mother's shoulder.

"I just can't afford to keep that position within the Resistance now that I don't have anyone to watch Madelyn while I'm away."

He looked down at the woman with twinkling eyes, laying a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"I will alert Severus to the arrangement right away. I'm sure he wouldn't object to such a brilliant young woman."

She turned a soft pink, smiling her gratitude.

"Thank you, sir."

"Now, if you will excuse me, the Australian representative was supposed to have floo'd in approximately ten minutes ago. So, as you can see, he is already waiting for me."

Her eyes widened, embarrassed that she had kept him waiting.

"Of course, please don't stay a moment longer, sir!"

The old man clasped her hand gently before turning in Draco's direction at a quick stride. Draco jumped, nearly knocking over a student in a means to avoid him. Of course, it was a futile effort.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy. How goes the filing?"

Draco made his way to the man, tripping slightly on the hem of one of the little one's robe.

"It goes, sir."

The man didn't seem to be paying him much attention. He nodded slowly as if Draco had just elaborated a great deal on the situation.

"Well I'm afraid I don't have the time to review the files right now. But I will check in with you later. In the meantime, you might want to greet your old friend over there."

In a swirl of purple robe, the old man made his exit, leaving two people who hadn't seen each other since a funeral alone together. The situation was made all the more awkward by all that Weasley had revealed in his drunkenness the previous weekend.

"Hey, Granger. How have you been?"

The woman readjusted the child in her arms as a means to stall her response. She was clearly as uncomfortable as he was, though he couldn't understand why. Did she also know that Weasley was in love with a dead man?

"I've actually been better, Draco. I—I left Ron this past weekend."

Shit. He hadn't thought anything of it when he hadn't heard from Weasley in a week. They weren't that close to begin with, so he hardly blinked when he woke up the following morning after their celebration and he wasn't there. He assumed he had gone back to his wife and child, like he was supposed to.

"God. I'm sorry, Granger. I didn't know."

She seemed to have trouble registering that.

"You mean… you haven't seen him at all since you guys went to the bar?"

Draco squirmed, unsure why she was getting upset.

"Well—uh, no. I haven't. I assumed he was home with you."

She grew silent, her eyes troubled. The child began to stir, whimpering indignantly at being woken. Draco was uncomfortable with the silence, unsure of what he was missing.

"So uh… I hear that you're working here now. It'll be a nice little reunion for us to be back at school. Maybe we can throw taunts at each other in Snape's class for old time's sake."

That broke her from her daze, she chuckled weakly, her tired eyes regarding him warmly.

"Yes, I suppose we can just sit in on a first year class and be more immature than the whole lot of them put together. They won't think we're bizarre or anything."

Draco's smile widened. "Have you noticed that too? These kids today… the most exciting thing they get up to lately is the Sunday crossword in the Prophet."

She laughed, her face younger, like he remembered.

"Well, those be the times we live in."

They enjoyed the peaceful moment that each other's presence brought. For once, Draco didn't feel quite so burdened and weary. Seeing her familiar face brought to mind all of his most embarrassing encounters with the trio—or namely, Harry. But being in the midst of someone who shared those same memories… and it didn't make him ache… well, it made him feel as if all was not lost in the world.

"Well, I have to go. I'm living here now and I have to finish moving our stuff in."

He jumped slightly, yanked out of the peaceful moment.

"Oh yeah, of course. We'll catch up later, for sure."

She smiled, boosting Madelyn up on her shoulder again before she finally turned. Draco watched her disappear through the stairwell. Draco was slightly concerned about Weasley. He wasn't stable to begin with, and now that Granger had left him, and neither of them knew where he was… he just hoped they didn't find him dead in a ditch somewhere.

He crossed the doorway into the Great Hall, ignoring the watching eyes of the students. He caught Severus' eye, who was sitting at the faculty table with Hagrid of all people, eating lunch.

"So apparently you have a new apprentice. And guess what, it's not a student."

Severus carefully placed his spoon in the chicken soup he was sipping at, as if highly disturbed at the interruption.

"What are you talking about, Draco?"

Draco smiled, a little giddy, despite the situation.

"Well, I just caught Dumbledore and Hermione Granger in conversation. He just gave her a job to work with you in the dungeons."

Severus blanched considerably, which was a funny thing, considering his skin tone.

"Why would the old man do that?"

Draco composed himself, slightly ashamed upon reflection of the circumstances. He just couldn't deny the opportunity to mess with the other man.

"Well, she left Weasley this past weekend."

The other man merely grunted, picking up his spoon once more.

"So I heard. I guess it's convenient that she didn't legally change her last name."

The giant next to them decided to interrupt. Draco nearly gagged, the man's beard was soaked with the chicken soup.

"You say 'Ermione left Ron then?"

"Uh…yeah. It's probably appropriate, Weasley hardly seemed prepared for marriage, from what I could gather."

The big lug seemed as if he were about to cry, his blubbery lower lip trembling horribly. Draco sighed. The man really was worse than a woman sometimes.

"Hagrid, you should check in on Granger. She's living on campus now."

The other man's beedy black eyes looked as if they might crack and leak ink. Draco tried not to judge the bloke.

"C'mon, Hagrid. The woman is probably barely maintaining as it is. If she sees you, she's not going to want to deal with your blubbery mess."

That seemed to be the right thing to say. The bearded giant took out an orange and yellow, poke-a-dot handkerchief and blew his nose wetly. Draco suppressed a shudder.

"You're righ' Malfoy, I'll have to see 'er. I won't be a mess, I promise yer tha'."

Draco patted his shoulder awkwardly, cringing as snot dribbled down into the man's mustache. He sat on Severus' other side.

"So are you ready for Beauxbatons tomorrow morning?"

Draco fumed. He knew the man was perfectly aware of how much he was not looking forward to picking up on the recruiting, especially since Weasley was currently missing in action.

"God… I'd be excited if they said I had two years before I had to go."

"I'm sure you're being dramatic."

Draco picked at the bread that appeared magically before him. It was all he was in the mood for. But even now, he wasn't so sure he desired anything, his stomach twisting into knots.

"Aw, yer sure to wow 'em, Malfoy. You can keep up with tha' crowd."

Draco smiled weakly at Hagrid on Severus' other side. He took another stab at the bread before him, as this was clearly its fault.

"I have every reason to be dramatic, Severus. I'm hardly the inspiring figure. With Weasley missing, I don't know what I'm going to do."

Severus helped himself to Draco's bread.

"Well, they're French. You should be perfectly capable of appealing to their finer tastes. You're a Malfoy, after all."

Draco had thought of that to. But he didn't know how his aristocratic upbringing would help convince a bunch of French aristocrats to go to war. Since when did aristocrats ever want to go to war? They were far more content getting drunk on expensive wine in their manors while talking general trash about the lower class wizarding world. Memories of his childhood home invaded his mind. The mixture of marble, mahogany, and rich cuisine making him sick to his stomach.

"I hardly know what a Malfoy is anymore, Severus. I feel so far removed from that life."

Severus savored the taste of the bread, contemplating his response.

"I'm sure you have it in you, somewhere. Just because you were prepared to spend the rest of your days with Potter doesn't make all of that disappear."

Anger burned, nearly escaping out his throat before he swallowed it harshly. No matter how long he and Harry had been together, Severus still couldn't shake his old habit of resenting Harry for his resemblance to his father. Even when the man was dead, he couldn't resist the chance.

"Maybe I was with Harry because he saved me from that path. Maybe I didn't want it."

Severus gave him a shrewd look mid-chew.

"Doesn't mean you can't play it."

Draco ran his hand through his hair, exasperated. He wouldn't let himself have a panic attack in front of the entire student body.

"Well, I should get back to work. If I don't, I'll end up procrastinating all day."

Severus quickly swallowed the remaining bread, rising from the table as well.

"Before you do, I believe McGonagall has someone she wants you to meet. She thinks he might be able to help you on your trips."

Draco paused, not so certain this pleased him. The trip was going to be awful enough. He didn't need a complete stranger accompanying him, turning the trip not only unbearable, but awkward as well.

"Did she say who?"

Severus shook his head, running his hands smoothly down his front. Draco sneered inwardly, as if the man would have a wrinkle or a crumb on him.

"You best just run up to the Gryffindor common room."

Draco moaned dramatically. He didn't know why every little thing in his daily life seemed to be more of a burden than usual. Maybe it was just him being back at Hogwarts again. He couldn't deny that everything he was doing lately just felt like homework and fetch-quests. He hardly needed to feel like a third year again.

"Well I'll be sure to be polite, lest I lose any house points."

That earned him a smirk from the other man, but nothing more.

"I have a class. Touch in before you leave tomorrow, will you?"

"Yeah, sure."

He quickly made his way through the moving staircase, letting himself wonder only for a moment if the trap stair was still in the same place. He hopped over the suspected step, slowing only slightly to see if another student would step on it. Much to his childish satisfaction, a portly third year girl managed just that. He only felt mildly sympathetic when the girl began to cry that she was late for Potions.

He approached the portrait of the Fat Lady. Her hair was graying around her ears. Draco suspected that the new, glamorous hat was on her head to cover just that.

"Hello, Madam."

The woman paused mid-rant to the midwife with three infants in arm in the portrait next door.

"Mr. Malfoy… is it?"

"Yes."

She looked down on him imperiously, suspect of his nature despite him having not been a student for three years.

"And what, exactly, can I do for you, sir."

"Well, I believe Professor McGonagall is expecting me, actually."

He could tell that she was gearing herself up to launch into a full on interrogation. Thankfully, he was saved from such a torture as the door swung open to reveal a slightly frazzled Minerva. Much to Draco's glee, the Fat Lady slammed right into the stone banister with a shriek.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy. You got my message then, did you?"

Draco stepped into the doorway, "Coincidentally, I ran into Severus at lunch."

"Good, good."

He was lead into the common room, the fire burning softly just as he remembered it. It didn't even occur to him until now that he hadn't stepped foot in here since graduation night. He and Harry had just gotten back from the party in the Ravenclaw common room, more than a little smashed. He blushed, remembering the night vividly.

He wouldn't let himself sink. Not now. Because, there were things that needed doing, wars that needed to be won. He was perfectly inclined to lose himself in his current task if it helped him forget his past.

"Wait just a moment, Malfoy."

He took the time of solitude to observe the room and all of the memories it held. There was the sofa in which he gave Harry his seventeenth birthday present. The gold coin remained in his desk at his apartment. There were the tables that he and Weasley nearly knocked over when they were arguing over whether he was good enough for Harry or not. He let himself smile slightly. Weasley was always very protective of Harry throughout there schooling. It all suddenly made so much sense now that he knew.

A pit developed in his stomach as his mind was once again drawn to the whereabouts of one missing Weasley. He didn't even know where he could begin to look for the mess of a man. Maybe he was at the bar he had taken him to. He did say that he and Harry used to go there all the time. Maybe he was there, drowning his miseries and memories as quickly as possible. His thoughts were interrupted as Minerva caught his eye on the stairwell with… it was that boy!

"Mr. Malfoy, I want you to meet Travis DuPont."

The boy's eyes regarded him cautiously, clearly not decided on whether he was a worthy man to be introduced to.

"Nice to meet you, Travis. You can call me Draco."

The boy nodded slightly, shaking his hand shortly. The boy had sandy brown hair that was messy in the same way that Harry's used to be… well, not quite as messy. Despite that, he was struck by how similar the boy was to Harry. His complexion was darker, his eyes were a deep blue instead of the pine green of Harry's. His jaw wasn't quite as strong as Harry's either. But still, something in the way his eyes already passed judgment on him without even speaking to him was so like Harry in his earlier days.

"Travis plans on pursuing a career in international relations—both wizarding and muggle, alike. He's seeker for Gryffindor, to boot. Not quite up to Potter's level, though."

Draco smiled. He knew the woman was nearly more proud of his quidditch accomplishments than his career objectives.

"Well, no one was ever up to Potter's level."

The boy looked up, as if he wanted to ask a question, but instead his gaze moved to Minerva's face. Minerva gleamed proudly, this boy was obviously her current golden boy, like Harry used to be.

"He's also signed up to go to the boot camp. He wants to be placed in a position pertaining to his career path."

Draco tried to ignore the way the boy was staring him down. Honestly, the boy didn't even know him.

"We need that. Currently, communication between countries isn't so strong. I believe Granger, Dumbledore, and Longbottom were the only ones we had to meet with other countries. Everyone else was just interested in combat."

Minerva nodded, sharing in the memory.

"I thought it might be a good chance for him if he could accompany you to Beauxbatons and Durmstrang… maybe even the U.S.?"

Draco rubbed at the back of his neck anxiously, his fears confirmed.

"Oh yeah, if he's as good as you say he is, than he should be a lot of help."

The boy took offense at the comment, his frown deepening.

"I assume we'll leave first thing, tomorrow morning—Draco, is it?"

Draco swallowed any retorts he would have gladly shot back if he were less mature and adult…

… oh who was he kidding?

"Yes, we'll leave at five-sharp. We'll take public transport. It'll be safer. Seems Death Eaters are able to track apparitions now."

The kid nodded sharply.

"Well, see you tomorrow, then." He said gruffly, turning on his heel. As he turned, Draco's eye caught the ripening of a black and blue bruise on the kid's neck, followed by what appeared to be scratches or bite marks just above his collar. He was stunned into a momentary silence, even when the kid was gone. He found it hard to believe that a stubborn brick like this kid was getting any. He seemed too anti-social for it.

"He's something, isn't he, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco groaned inwardly.

"Yeah… something…"

---

Ron knew that he should probably contact someone. Dumbledore, Draco… anyone, really. But he couldn't even bring himself to think of the duty he had promised himself to at this point. He couldn't think of anything except that the only two people who were worth anything to him had just walked out of his life.

His remorse burned in his throat. God… would he never get to see his daughter? Would Hermione keep her from him in an attempt to protect her from his drunken carelessness? He snorted harshly. It was probably only a matter of time before he did something to hurt his little girl… his beautiful little girl…

And so, he found himself upon the sight in which this whole dilemma started to begin with. His marriage had seemed like a conceivable path in life when Harry was still alive. Knowing that he would at least always have Harry's friendship was enough for him to appreciate all Hermione had to offer him. But ever since he died, his heart burned with a miserable longing that he couldn't shake, no matter how much he tried to ignore it.

He laughed mirthlessly. Why was he so utterly fucked up? Why did he have to fall for someone who was so clearly taken with another?

He sank to his knees at the edge of the forest. All of the rock was now sprouting new life, even more so since he had last been here. The only thing that remained eerily frozen in time was the crater in the center of the field. It was as if the previous six months hadn't passed for that one particular patch of rock. He shivered, feeling the hairs on his neck on end. The forest was oddly silent. There was no wind… no rustle of leaves, no sound of birds singing… or the chirp of crickets. There was absolutely nothing.

He attempted to distract himself from his unease, remembering that the Daily Prophet had said they had closed the investigation on Harry's death. He was surprised there weren't any aurors here, to be honest. If they were closing the investigation, he assumed they would try to rebuild what had once been the domain of the centaurs. They had been forced into migration after the battle. They were probably in Eastern Europe in the mountains somewhere.

He heard the distant noise of the students up at the school grounds, no doubt either going or coming from their Care of Magical Creatures class. He recalled how Harry had outright shown up everyone in third year, not only riding, but mastering Buckbeat, souring into the sky as if he was returning home, never to come back.

He stood up abruptly, disgusted at himself.

"God! Why can't I let go!"

Frustration like he never knew whipped and lashed viciously at his insides. His obsession over something that he couldn't have had completely destroyed his life. He had let a woman who had been so completely in love him walk out of his life forever, taking his precious daughter with her.

White heat pumped through his body, his throat nearly tearing out of his neck. He had lost his daughter! The baby girl who always gazed at him adoringly whenever he took the opportunity to hold her!

What kind of woman was she going to be? Hopefully, fierce and strong like her mother. The rage built, his anger at himself and the world boiling forth to the point he could hardly contain it. It had been six months and he couldn't ignore it any longer!

He released to the sky a blood-curdling scream. It held all of his remorse, his regret, his disgust at himself, his frustration at the lot in life fate had given him. He drew his wand, throwing curses at everything in sight. Rock shattered. Grass burned. Trees splintered.

Why had he been given Hermione when he was so undeserving of her?! She was fierce and proud!

And what was he? He was weak! He was cruel and disgusting for not loving and cherishing a woman who was so genuine and brave!

He jumped, the patter of falling rock startling him. He turned to the crater, looking for the source of the sound.

"Who's there!!?"

He knew he was irrational—maybe even completely out of his mind. But this field which so often brought him comfort was… different. He didn't notice the way the air was humming softly, as if excited and joyous.

He brought his wand over his head, shooting a wave of fire at the crater, it turning to clay under his curse's molten touch.

"Who the bloody hell is there! Come out!"

And then, it happened. It started gently, at first—a rumbling beneath his feet, making him tremble. The ground cracked and shifted, bending in ways that seemed unnatural to him. The hum of the air was growing louder, sounding as if he were surrounded by a swarm of angry bees. He covered his ears in an attempt to guard against the unbearable sound.

He stepped back, looking for the source of his turmoil, only to find none. But then, his eyes were drawn to the crater. Much to his horror, heat waves were rising erratically from its center, gathering and growing. The air around him was becoming excruciatingly hot--he could feel it burning his skin, destroying it layer by layer.

Suddenly, this wasn't just a curious phenomenon anymore. He was scared. He rubbed at his skin frantically, desperate to alleviate the burn. Sweat ran from his pours, dropping off his chin to land on the rock below him with a sizzle. The ground was shuddering harshly now. Ron's gaze rose, desperate to find the cause of his suffering, though he knew there was none that he could see.

The heat continued to gather above the crater, growing bigger and bigger. And then, a devastating fissure nearly struck him deaf. The heat erupted forth, expanding in a perilous wave from its center. The wave lifted him off the ground ruthlessly, landing him several feet from where he once stood. He felt the crack of a rib as it met something sharp. His head was torn by rock and grass, and his skin burned from the air's treacherous attack.

He screamed, covering his face with his hands in a pitiful means to escape, the sound of the trees shattering and collapsing terrifying him.

He waited… he waited because it was only a matter of time before fate finally struck him down for his abominable behavior.

But there was nothing, only silence—silence and blinding light. But the air was cooler, though his skin still burned. The wind had died down, the ground no longer shook. Where was it? Where was the cataclysm that was about to rob him from this world?

He rose to his feet, thanking a higher power for his ability to maintain a grip on his wand. The trees all along the edge of the forest were either in splinters on the ground or charred black by some unexplainable fire he could not find anywhere.

The light was still blinding, his retinas ringing painfully. It seemed a sun was hovering merely ten feet above the crater.

Wait… where was the crater?

In its place stood a gaping twenty foot hole surrounded by piles of burning ash.

He immediately directed his wand at the source of light, feeling bold despite spastic weakness running through his limbs.

"I don't know what devil you are! But I will fight until I see you dead!"

The light was fading. He could dimly make out the silhouette of a figure at its center, slowly descending to the ground.

"Ron, I hardly want to fight you."

The tone was light, airy even. And for a moment, Ron thought he might honestly die of his own accord. His wand slipped from his limp hand, falling forgotten to the ground.

He dare not say it. He dare not believe it. The light faded completely, revealing his greatest fear and hope to be true.

"H-Harry?"

There he stood, in the same sweatshirt and jeans that he had worn for as long as he could remember.

"It… It can't be."

The figure before him could not possibly be Harry. He was taller, nearly as tall as Ron—not gangly like he remembered. His hair was longer, nearly down to his shoulders. His eyes were no longer marred by the shadows that the war had brought. Quite the opposite—his skin was lustrous in its pale complexion, his eyes brighter than he remembered. Instead of reminding him of a rich forest, they had taken on an almost icy quality, making him think of the ocean, or even the sky.

"You… you fell!"

He stumbled forward warily, afraid to see this illusion morph into a vicious nightmare that he would wake up from. Why were his clothes not ragged from their six months of age spent underground? Why did he appear so healthy when he should be dead? The figure before him stayed silent, waiting for him to come to terms with his existence.

"How can… you be?"

Harry looked down at the ground, considering his friend's words, trying to remember what woke him.

"I…I was asleep. And then… I heard you. I heard your suffering."

The man shrugged, his eyes compassionate, telling him of the complete honesty of his words.

"And so I'm here."

Harry smiled, hoping that his friend could accept his words and accept him back into his life.

"I missed you. For six months I've been mourning you!"

Harry finally stepped forward, embracing his friend warmly. Ron melted into his touch, having gone into an exhausted state of shock.

"I missed you so much, Harry!"

He couldn't tell if he was shedding tears at the memory of his mourning not moments ago, or if they were truly and undeniably, tears of joy. He could feel gentle waves of warmth and comfort filling his mind and being, heating his very skin. He cringed as the slightest rise in temperature sent his skin into pain. He buried his face into the shoulder of the man he was still so in love with. His fears, for the moment, were entirely forgotten.

"It's okay, Ron. I'm back."

He finally raised his head to meet the other man's gaze. Throwing history and fate to the wind, he closed the distance to capture Harry's lips. Unlike his last attempt, he met no resistance. Had he finally won Harry's love? Would he be able to spend the rest of his days with the only person he felt truly knew him?

He deepened the kiss, wrapping his arms completely around the smaller man's frame. He could taste the fire that he had only managed to sample that night at Grimmauld Place. It shot up and down his skin, sending every muscle, bone and nerve-ending into a frenzy of ecstasy. He wanted it more—wanted to finally grasp that illusive light which sent his being through a hailstorm of pleasure. His skin grew hot, heat coiling and wrapping around the most vulnerable spots of his body. He winced as the burns on his arms, neck, and face reinforced their attack on his body.

He tried to pull away, realizing that he hadn't taken a breath this entirely too short moment. But the iron grip on his arm is keeping him close and at the other man's mercy. He turned his face away, the inferno in his body nearly bringing tears to his eyes.

"Harry… I feel…"

He cannot finish as his lips are claimed once more by that moist heat. But it only caters to intensify the storm in his body. The air hums, vibrating viciously against his suffering form.

_'It hurts! My God! It hurts!'_

_'What is this pain?!'_

_'My body! It feels as if it might tear one hundred different ways!'_

He looked to the man he was kissing, hoping against hope that he was not alone in his suffering. However, the eyes which met his gaze were not a soft green… and they were not those of the man he loved.

White, blinding terror seized his entire frame. A single tear formed at the corner of his eyelid, evaporating in an angry burst of steam the moment it rolled down his cheek.

He wished he could have seen the faces of his wife and child one last time.

* * *

I always appreciate feedback, no matter its nature! 

Jocey


	6. An Old Man's Motives

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the other characters in this story. It is a work of fandom.

A/N: It took me longer than I expected to finish this chapter. But I have the next three chapters mostly written, so I don't feel behind at all. I just have to polish them a bit. I'm not quite sure how I feel about this chapter. I felt certain parts were a little scattered but I revised many times, so hopefully I fixed everything that needed to be fixed.

Enjoy!

Jocey

* * *

A terrible tremor ran through the old man's entire being. He woke with a start, throwing the many layers of sheets off of him onto the floor. His mind was spinning. Something terrible had happened. Everything around him echoed the horrible calamity. The window to his left reverberated loudly, responding to the violent winds of the night.

What had happened? He could feel it in every fiber of his being. He paced the room hurriedly, desperate searching the castle with his mind. There didn't seem to be anything untoward happening. The castle was in relative peace except for the occasional sixth and seventh years sneaking alcohol about in the towers. He expanded his horizons, feeling the surface of the grassy plains surrounding the castle... further still, to the edge of the forest.

He winced in pain as he was met with a ferocious static. But the essence of it was oddly familiar. His gaze bore into his desk as he desperately tried to distinguish the signature not so different from his own. He ignored the gentle purring of Fawkes as he slumbered peacefully on the pedestal to his right, he pushed further against the wall of static.

He gasped, his eyes widening.

Harry was alive.

He grew fearful that his presence had been noticed by the boy standing idly in the woods. He composed himself, the static was most likely a sign that the boy was in shock and not aware of his surroundings. Maybe he had a chance.

Albus didn't hesitate, he forced his will upon the boy with all of his might, hoping to subdue him before he could react to his presence. He was met by a powerful psionic wall, the force with which it pushed back nearly rendering him unconscious. But then he felt it, the single thread which needed to be pulled. He forcefully reached forward, groaning in pain at the psionic waves which viciously tried to protect it. And then, he pulled harshly. The static immediately cleared, the boy having been subdued.

The man vanished in a flash of light, reappearing at the boy's side. He scanned the grounds for any signs of life. His surroundings had truly come upon something unnatural. The trees surrounding him were twisted surreally; some melted, some turned to ash, others no longer resembling wood, but some sort of metallic substance. The rock beneath his feet was soft, as if clay. Even through his shoes he could feel the heat which still lingered beneath.

Something twinkling next to Harry's side caught his eye. It looked to be a branch or a twig. He reached down gingerly, picking up the item.

It was a wand, with gold engravings on its handle. He recognized the markings. It belonged to Mr. Weasley. What could he have possibly been doing here? And where was he now?

He knew the answer to that question. He could not have survived Harry's outburst. He pocketed the wand, directing his attention to the sleeping form by his foot.

Albus' abilities allowed him to see the nearly palpable shimmer of energy coming from the boy's form. The boy had managed to survive three thousand killing curses. He was very likely an indestructible force now.

Albus shivered. The boy looked so peaceful now. But how long could that possibly last? His mind raced at the prospect of this new situation. Was this really the Harry everyone knew and loved? Or was he completely out of control now that the magical seals he had placed on the boy had finally broken?

He bent lower to get his hands underneath the boy, lifting him up easily into his arms. He hesitated to disapparate, afraid that the resulting magical nuances in the air would stimulate Harry's mind, and therefore, break the very delicate hold he had on Harry.

He began his slow ascent through the woods and up the hill, careful not to draw attention. The forest was full of watchful eyes, after all. He didn't need word of this to get out to the press.

He broke the seal on the main entrance gates, watching as the locks slowly unhinged themselves one by one. He had to get to the infirmary and get Harry behind secure wards. He would have to personally see to the seal on the room, likely anything placed by any other witch or wizard would easily be broken by Harry when and if he should wake.

He heard footsteps closing in on his position at a quick stride. He didn't need to read the thoughts of the person to know it was Severus. He swore the man took pleasure in trying to capture unsuspecting students out of bed in the middle of the night. He let the humorous thought distract him from the grim circumstances.

The man rounded the corner, in his typical black cloaks, wand alit and held high.

"Well, good evening, Severus—or good morning, I suppose I should say." Despite his quip, he knew his voice was strained and tired.

The man stopped abruptly, recognizing Albus' tall frame in the dark, abandoned hall.

"Albus? What are you—who is that in your arms?"

He knew the man could see plain as day whom he held. But even from where he stood he could feel the frenetic patterns of shock.

"It is Harry, Severus. I found him on the edge of the forest, near where he had supposedly died."

The man's jaw worked slowly, his eyes wide but focused on the limp figure in Albus' arms.

"H-he lives… but how?"

Albus ignored the man, continuing past him, knowing that the man would follow stubbornly.

"He was so powerful that night… but it never occurred to me that he might survive—Albus?"

The younger man struggled to keep up with Albus' brisk pace.

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know, Severus."

His first priority was to get Harry secure and secluded so that he couldn't harm anyone. He was afraid that any moment Harry might wake up. He had to move—quickly. His heart was hammering frantically in his chest. He hardly had the focus right now to keep Harry subdued.

"What will you tell Draco?"

The old man finally stopped. That had not even occurred to him. Draco would most definitely wish to see Harry… to have answers. He would have to tell Draco the truth—him and only him.

"Tell him… send an owl to Beauxbatons, requesting his immediate return to Hogwarts."

Severus nodded shortly, regarding the lifeless figure one more time before turning on his heel in the opposite direction.

Albus looked down upon the misleadingly soft, childish features of the man in his arms.

"My dear boy… what will I do now?"

---

Light flitted through the satin blue curtains of the bedroom, landing on the sleeping form of Draco. He scrunched his eyes tighter, willing its warm caress away from his eyes.

It had been a dreadfully long two days with Travis. He had certainly proved useful. By the end of the first day he had already filed everybody they had managed to recruit according to their specialty. They had managed nearly the same amount of students that they had at Hogwarts. However, because the school was at least twice the size of Hogwarts, Draco considered it somewhat of a failure. Weasley, no doubt, could have managed better.

Groaning as the sunlight grew brighter, he rose from the bed, not entirely ready to meet the day. He still had to meet with those who had signed up for the boot camp and inform them of what their training would entail in greater detail. He was actually somewhat surprised by the response that he had received to his public address. The students at Beauxbatons were certainly of a different breed than that of Hogwarts, but they also possessed an honor that he hadn't seen before… and a fierce pride in their heritage. He had followed his instincts and used that to his advantage in order to draw more of them to Dumbledore's cause.

He stepped into the bathroom, admiring again how beautiful the architecture was in the school. It made Hogwarts look downright medieval. All of the stone used for the floor and walls were in different hues of crème and blue, the sinks seemed to be made of pearl, if that were possible. And the shower… well, maybe getting up in the morning wasn't so horrible.

He discarded his clothes to the ground, stepping through the glass doors into the bathing area. Several fountains which immediately sensed his presence began to shower him with warm soapy water. It smelled of vanilla and ocean breeze, but without its pungent stench. It was a clean, salty smell that immediately cleared his sinuses and nasal passages.

He sighed. He could get used to this. Even his life in his parents' home hadn't compared.

After rinsing the shampoo from his hair, he stepped out of the shower, reaching for a white towel that, much to his delight, was heated by the countertop it sat upon.

He dried himself hurriedly, knowing that Madame Maxime had wanted to see him before he and Travis departed. He grabbed a white polo shirt and some dark khakis before leaving his room for the common area.

Much to his surprise, Travis was already there reading a book.

'_What time did the kid get up? It's only nine.'_

He situated himself next to the kid, helping himself to the scones and coffee set on the table.

"How'd you sleep?"

The brown-haired man looked up at him, startled.

"Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt your book. What are you reading?"

Travis marked his place in his book before closing it.

"Dubliners, by James Joyce."

Draco shrugged lightly, "I can't say I've heard of it." The kid closed his eyes knowingly, as if he expected as much from him.

"Is it any good?" He tried again to regain some credibility in the other's eyes.

"It's a set of short stories about different characters whose lives are caught in a state of paralysis."

He paused, as if reconsidering if he really wanted to tell Draco this.

"He wrote them as a reflection upon his own upbringing in Dublin."

Draco nodded slowly while chewing, ignoring the fact that he didn't really answer his question.

"Well, sounds like it's a good read." He said non-chalantly.

He took a last gulp of coffee, unsatisfied by the effects of the caffeine.

"I have to meet with the headmistress. She wants me to meet with the signed up students to explain what their training with entail in greater detail. I shouldn't be longer than an hour. Will you be ready when I get back?"

Travis looked up, slightly taken aback.

"We aren't staying any longer?"

Draco paused midway through the doorway. Why would the kid think that they were staying longer?

"Well… uh, we met with each of the classes, we got the people who were willing to sign up accounted for. What more did you expect?"

Travis stood quickly. Apparently, he expected quite a bit, judging by the look of outrage on his face.

"We've only stopped at the school, and that's it? Don't you want to tour France? Try and get word out throughout the whole country, maybe?"

Why did the kid have to get passionate now? His stoicism was hardly any help while he was preaching to every critical student in the school. Draco rubbed his eyes—it was too early for this.

"Look, kid, Dumbledore asked me to stop at Beauxbatons and that's it. We're going home today."

The kid looked astounded, as if he were recognizing Draco for the first time.

"You don't even care, do you? This war isn't even worth fighting to you."

To Draco's surprise, he saw disappointment in those blue depths. His stomach squirmed harshly. He hated that the kid acted as if he had him completely figured out. He was getting angry—and defensive.

"Listen kid—

"Don't call me that!"

--I've been involved in both sides of this war at one time or another for longer than you can imagine!"

The kid walked up to him challengingly.

"I can't believe this! How did Harry Potter end up with someone like you?!"

Something in him snapped. He felt a flame that hadn't burned in so long ignite within his chest. He shoved the kid up against the wall, his thumb digging into his shoulder. He ignored the whimper of pain he drew.

"Don't pretend to know anything about me! Or him!"

Draco was seconds away from punching the brat.

"I don't need to hear from a seventeen year old how I'm not giving enough of myself to the cause. I gave everything I had to that old man! Everything!"

Draco felt his voice waver and crack as he was suddenly flooded with heavy regret. Flashes of green light engulfing a raven haired man made his head swim, turning his stomach over sickly. He leaned against the doorframe, breathing heavily, his grip on the kid lessening.

The boy was still regarding him intensely, though he seemed more vulnerable and younger—so much younger than he actually was.

"You were supposed to be stronger than this."

Draco barely heard the defeated statement, the kid's small voice barely a whisper. The kid sounded wounded, like some pathetic doe that needed to be put out of its misery.

Draco slowly looked up at the trembling figure before him. Travis' eyes hardened once more, though his frame still shook in his grasp. Whether from rage or fear, he couldn't quite tell.

"There are some people who don't have the opportunity to fight for what's rightfully theirs, Malfoy."

There was something about the kid's gaze that sent shivers through his frame. It was utterly raw in its intensity… and unguarded. It was a gaze that only one other had ever given him. He suddenly wanted to know what was driving the kid to such passionate exclamations.

"Whom do you speak of, Travis?"

They regarded each other silently for a moment longer. The younger man's intensity wavered before he turned his face away completely, avoiding the older man's stare. Draco sensed his reluctance, making him even more curious of the kid's history.

After an agonizing silence, Draco released the boy, realizing his question would go unanswered. His arm dropped lifelessly to his side.

He suddenly felt very foolish, letting his control slip so badly. There was just something about the kid which brought everything back so quickly.

"I'll be back in an hour." He said gruffly.

He stepped away from the kid, the room too small for him to breathe in now. On his way out he paused to regard Travis one more time.

"Oh and by the way… the name's Draco, kid."

The boy looked up, and damn it if he didn't see a renewed light of hope in the kid's eye.

"Draco, then."

He nodded shortly before leaving the room.

He hated that after everything, there were still people who were judging him for the choices he made in his life. They weren't even choices! They were Albus' orders, for God's sake!

Why was this kid who didn't even know him one of the last people on earth who still had complete faith in him—who still had entirely high hopes of him?

He saw it. How could he not see the look of utter disappointment when the kid realized that Draco was not the person that he thought him to be.

With renewed anger and the quickening of his pace, he turned a corridor, nearly running into a couple of girls. The kid had no right having an opinion about him one way or the other!

He wanted to fume. He wanted to feel wronged by the world for a good two hours before he let it go. He knew it was sort of childish, but damn it, didn't he deserve the right to be childish right now?

The kid's utterly unguarded eyes reflecting his came to mind. As much as the kid was disappointed in him, he was so ready to believe in Draco again the moment he had insisted the kid call him by his first name. He just didn't like last name acquaintances… it reminded him of how much everyone hated him when he was back in school.

He couldn't really blame them. He _was_ an insufferable prat.

He slowed to a stop, noticing the giant horses on the green down below him. He wondered if they were the same horses which had drawn the carriage to Hogwarts for the Tri-Wizard Tournament.

He sighed. Even now, he was letting himself get entirely too worked up over his encounter with the boy. He should just accept the fact that the boy is young… well, younger, anyway. He smiled somewhat caustically.

'_You're a twenty-two year old going on forty._'

He turned fully to the window, its stained glass doors opened to the warm breeze that the day brought. The landscape was entirely different than that in England. In England, it seemed that the days were always grey, even when the sun was shining. The only real color that stood out to the landscape was the lush green of the fields surrounding the school.

Here in France, everything was vibrant and beautiful, if not entirely dissimilar to the lands of his home… if that even made sense. They shared the same landscapes, same mountains, rivers and forests. But the colors were more exotic. The greens had yellow and red in them, the blue of the sky was breathtaking compared to the sky's unhealthy pallor back home.

He breathed in the air that was fresh with pollen. He didn't know how to describe the smell. It was grass and something else… something musky, yet fragrant.

His gaze rose to the horizon towards the mountains, noticing a white bird. Was it coming towards the school grounds?

He watched as it circled the tower to the left several times before it finally closed in on the window frame in which he leaned against. It was a snowy owl. It was… Hedwig!

"Hedwig! What are you doing here?"

The owl landed gracefully on his shoulder, dropping a small parchment in his hand before nuzzling his neck affectionately. He petted her gently, having missed her terribly. The owl had disappeared the night after Harry's death. The owl's disappearance had hurt almost as much as the loss of Harry. He was very curious as to whom he was delivering a letter for.

He opened up the parchment, making note of the Hogwarts wax seal.

_Draco,_

_Albus has urgent news that he needs to discuss with you in person. He asks that you make your return to Hogwarts as quickly as possible._

_Regards,_

_Severus._

Draco's hand trembled.

What news did Albus have that he couldn't write it in a letter? He knew that either it was too important to take the security risks involved with owl mail or it was simply something that had to be said in person. Either way, it didn't sound promising.

He stepped away from the window, twirling Hedwig's feathered ear in his finger once more before shoving her back into the sky. He renewed his steps towards the headmistress' office.

He had to hurry.

---

Severus stood by the fireplace of the office lazily, watching Granger pace the room impatiently. Every time one of the portraits sneezed or spoke in hushed tones to their neighbor, she would look up with a start. He didn't really understand her lack of composure. She had no reason to be upset, or to even expect terrible news. Not that it really was terrible news... just shocking. She had been a nervous wreck since her separation from Weasley, hopefully this didn't send her into lunacy.

He softened a bit. He supposed she was still in love with Weasley, which meant he had done something to fuck it up. He couldn't deny that the man had always been a fumbling, chaotic mess—even when he was in school.

He exchanged a heated glare with Minerva, who in return glared for his attitude. He couldn't help it. The man was over twenty minutes late. He swore it was a giddy tradition of the old man to request people's presence without notice and then keep them waiting like a bunch of idiots.

"The professor didn't say when he would be here?"

Severus looked up at the young woman standing in front of the desk. He could tell it took all her energy to stand still.

"No, I assumed he would be here when I arrived."

She looked at the door, willing it to open with her eyes.

"It's just—I left Madelyn with Hagrid so I could come here and… well you know how Hagrid can be indelicate at times…"

Ah… that would explain it.

"Don't worry, Miss Granger, I'm sure your child is still alive."

She smiled slightly despite herself.

Just then, the door opened, the bearded man making his way into the room briskly.

"So sorry to keep you waiting, everyone. I had some matters to attend to in the infirmary." He took his seat at his desk, regarding everyone individually with a fond gaze.

"Is everything alright, Albus?" Minerva asked softly, wondering what could have drawn him down to the infirmary.

"Please sit, everyone, and I will share with you these matters."

Severus remained standing by the fireplace while the two women occupied the chairs in front of the desk.

"What happened, Professor? Is it Voldemort?"

The man considered Granger's words a moment, clearly still torn as to how he was going to breach the subject to all in the room.

"The other night… …the other night I recognized a presence of a person on the school grounds that I had long since believed to be dead."

The two women exchanged shocked looks, clearly at a loss.

"Wo do you speak of, Professor?"

Hermione sat forward a little in her seat.

"... Harry Potter."

A silent gasp escaped Minerva, her hands rising to cover her mouth.

"The boy is alive, Albus?"

He looked to her calmly, appreciating the compassion in which the woman always composed herself with. Tears were already sprouting forth from her eyes.

"Yes. I found him unconscious down by the forest where we fought six months ago."

"Is he alright, Albus?" The watery woman croaked.

"He is physically unharmed, but he currently is in a coma."

He looked back to Hermione, who was staring at him with wide but unreadable eyes. He would have wondered if his words registered with her if he hadn't made note of the thin line of her lips.

"Miss Granger?"

His address to her brought her back, her eyes found his before quickly lowering to her lap, she took a harsh breath, her face crumpling.

"Miss Granger, I know that—

The slam of the door interrupted him. Albus' gleaming spectacles met the man in the doorway.

"I had to cut my meeting with Beauxbatons short so I could…

Draco drifted off as he noticed the silence in the room, and convulsing form of Granger sitting in the chair.

"Wh—what happened?"

Draco looked to each person in the room expectantly for an answer before finally settle on Albus once more.

"Albus, what happened?"

Albus rose from his desk, causing Draco to tense up slightly. This didn't bode well.

"Draco, perhaps may I speak with you out in the hallway?"

Draco's mouth opened slightly, wondering what couldn't be said to him in front of Severus and Minerva. His mouth tightly shut when the man grabbed him by the arm gently and led him out into the hall. He felt like a child who had been separated from his parents on a shopping trip and was relying on complete strangers to help him find his way.

The door quietly shut behind them.

"What's this about, Albus?"

The man looked up and down the hallway before tugging on Draco's arm, ignoring his question.

"Walk with me."

The tension and silence between the two felt surreal when completely surrounded by the loud chatter and gossip of the students walking to and from class. He noticed they were approaching the infirmary.

"Draco, I have something rather shocking to show you. But you must promise me that you will do your utmost to keep yourself composed."

Fear tied itself into knots in his stomach. The man was acting as if he was about to lose his mind.

"Okay, then."

The man fixed him with a knowing eye, as if to reinforce his statement.

"I promise!" Draco said impatiently, now just wanting it to be over with. He didn't like the way the man was making him feel. The man stood upright, taking a breath as if to prepare himself for the words he was about to share. Draco steeled himself.

"Draco, Harry Potter is alive and lying unconscious in a ward inside."

At first, the words seemed insignificant, and for the slimmest of seconds he wondered exasperatedly why the man had prepared him so well for this. But then, so slowly, the words registered in his brain one by one. What about Harry?

His body felt as if it were about to sink effortlessly through the crust of the earth, unreachable and incapable of rescue. He was trying to make out the rest of the words that came forth from the old man's lips, but he understood none. He only saw movement and heard a deafening white noise. He felt weak, and yet, there was an adrenaline pumping through him that was making his entire body shake. Slowly the noise faded, the world came back and he could hear the man in front on him once more.

"…Draco, are you listening?"

Draco's eyes tried to focus on the man in front of him. He leaned against the wall for support so he wouldn't fall through the floor.

"Wha… …?" He could hardly find his voice, finding himself suddenly short of breath.

"Are you alright, Draco." The man held his shoulder tightly, as a means to support him. Draco couldn't deny that he was thankful for the physical contact keeping him grounded in reality.

"He's… he's alive?"

"Yes… …do you want to see him?"

The man's question was heavy, as if considering the possibility that Draco may not be ready to face this new reality.

Draco stood up from the wall, taking a steadying breath. The man released his shoulder, sensing that he was coming back to himself. Draco flushed slightly as curious eyes made note of their spectacle. He looked back again at the intense gaze of the old man.

"He's really alive?" The question was barely audible.

Albus' heart broke for the man before him. He could clearly see that Draco still considered it a possibility that Albus had dared to rekindle the hope in his heart, only to shatter it ruthlessly by admitting that he was lying.

"He lies sleeping just inside."

Draco looked to the infirmary doors hesitantly before looking back at Albus, unsure. He finally nodded minutely before reaching for the doorhandle.

"Albus, there have been no changes—ah, Mr. Malfoy. You came."

Madam Pomfrey looked between the two men hesitantly, clearly surprised by Draco's presence.

"He wishes to see the boy, Poppy."

Albus' hand was softly on Draco's back, reassuring him when he wasn't so sure he could take another step without vomiting. Even now, he was scared to believe—scared that this was just some grotesquely long dream that his subconscious had fabricated out of longing for Harry. And then he would wake up, reliving Harry's death all over again. He felt panicked tears threatening to break.

Draco could already tell which room held Harry by the glow that covered the mahogany wood of the door like a glaze. He wondered why such heavy wards were placed on the room.

He stood in front of the door now. Albus raised his hand slowly. Draco could hear the clicking of the magic surrounding the door as it unraveled itself.

He looked to Albus with wide eyes, suddenly not wanting to follow through. The man's grave eyes simply stared back at him blankly before he gestured mildly for Draco to enter. His fist clenched tightly before he finally stepped slowly over the threshold.

He gasped, his hand rising to his mouth. As much as Draco was afraid to believe, Harry truly lay on the bed before him, just as beautiful as Draco remembered. His dark eyebrows and eyelashes stood out at greater contrast then Draco remembered against his pale skin, which now held a luminescent glow. His hair wasn't nearly as unruly as it once was, most likely because of its newfound length. It was still thick, but now in smooth flowing locks around his strong jaw and neck.

In some ways Harry was still familiar, but now so unfamiliar--like a mythical creature from another world. To his utter horror, he felt as if the man who lay before him was a complete stranger that he had no business knowing. He fought back the tears in his eyes and the pain in his throat. Had he completely forgotten the Harry he once knew? Had it been so long as to make him feel foreign to Draco's eyes?

Why was the man who laid before him such a mystery? How on earth did he survive? Never mind withstanding the killing curse of an entire army, but to live after being buried by ten tons of rubble without so much as a blemish? So many pertinent questions desperately needed answers.

He looked at what they had dressed Harry in…nothing but a black beater and some cotton shorts. Despite his state of shock, he mustered a little indignation.

'_The man is lying in the infirmary unconscious for God's sake! Can they not provide decent clothing?'_

He heard the rustle of cloak behind him.

"Peaceful, isn't he, Mr. Malfoy?" Dumbledore asked.

Draco jumped, having forgotten about the other man's presence. The man's gaze was fixed intently on the man lying on the bed. Draco wondered if the old man was speaking to him or more to himself. The man didn't seem aware of his presence at all, from what Draco could gather.

"I suppose."

Draco would be the first to admit that the old man's kooky, mysterious nature always had him at unease. With the way his eyes twinkled mischievously, you'd think he always had knowledge on some inside joke or embarrassing secret. However, standing alone with him in the infirmary, he had never been more fearful. The man's eyes were dull and tired, full of guilt and… fear? He didn't know what to make of the old man's new show of weakness and vulnerability. He'd rather be in his presence when he's giddy and omniscient instead of when he is tired and confused—and decidedly not omniscient. Like before, when he was pleasantly sucking on a lemon drop while discussing war tactics. Lord Voldemort didn't frighten him, and yet, Harry did?

"Yes… …peaceful…" Dumbledore agreed. He couldn't wait any longer to speak.

"When did you find him?" His tone was sharp and ragged.

He hadn't meant for it to sound as if he was accusing Dumbledore of anything, but the old man wasn't nearly as surprised as he should be considering that someone who was once dead was now very much alive. Draco, himself, was barely standing as it were.

"I discovered him last night."

Draco looked back at the body, his breath coming shakily.

"He's…unharmed?" He dare not hope.

"I wouldn't say completely unharmed, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco looked to the other man sharply, as if finally discovering the red herring in this entirely too perfect a story. Albus held up his hand for patience.

"That night six months ago, Harry was no longer casting spells with a wand. He was bending the cosmic forces of the planet to his will. He could have easily deflected whatever rubble he was buried in…" Draco nodded. He remembered that night vividly as well. Harry had been magnificent. But then… why was he not unharmed?

"Before the final front… he had been growing more powerful. How did he come about such a capacity?"

Dumbledore moved across the room to sit next to Harry, his eyes were still fixed intensely on the sleeping face all the while. Draco sensed his unease.

"He didn't gain such abilities. He was born with it."

"What? What do you mean born with it?" His voice was loud with disbelief.

Dumbledore waited again for silence. Draco looked to the floor, slightly ashamed at his outburst. He was barely maintaining as it was, he felt as if every emotion he had ever felt was about to burst forth from him viciously.

"When Harry was born I was one of the privileged few to see him so soon afterward. Lily and James were home, exhausted as it were. Harry had been stubborn as usual and it had taken Lily more than a handful of hours to deliver." He was mildly amused by his own words. He felt the conversation needed lightening, apparently.

"And?" Draco persisted impatiently. He felt on the verge of some great revelation.

"And—and I immediately knew that the boy was a marvelous miracle of nature when I laid eyes on him. Every object within five feet his vicinity floated and danced in front of him. He found making the objects dance entertaining, I suppose." Dumbledore chuckled weakly, readjusting himself in his chair, his weary blue eyes still gazing over Harry's still form. But as the eyes settled on Harry's face again, they darkened to a stormy blue.

"However, I saw a potential in him that I only have seen in one other. Myself." He paused to let Draco digest these words.

"Are you saying he is your equal in power?" Draco wasn't sure he was following Dumbledore's train of thought.

"Yes… and no. I came into my potential when I was one hundred-seventy years old. I was relatively old in mind and spirit. Even though I knew no one was capable of stopping me from exercising my power, no matter how devastating the consequences might be, I was still aware that it was wrong. And because of my maturity and sense of humanity, I was able to respect that."

His eyes grew intense, "But Harry…… he was coming into his own when he was an infant in body and in mind. His potential is limitless considering how many more years of life he has left. He very well could be more powerful than me." He stopped himself, as if he caught himself mid rant and realized he was getting loud. "Even now, he may not have the mental capacity… he was capable of such horror—I had to do something!"

"What do you mean, do something?" Draco tone was deadly quiet. He was waiting for such words to come.

For the first time since he had walked into the room, Dumbledore tore his eyes away from the sleeping form before them. His angry eyes focused on Draco.

"I had a terrible choice to make, Draco. Unlimited power is a dangerous thing. Even at the age I was, I still had to conquer my inner demons. It is nearly impossible to hold onto such trivial things as humanity when you can sense and manipulate the entire cosmos all around you! It is very easy to simply become an entity of passion and rage." The man shivered, as if even now he struggled with himself.

"I had to block off access to that part of his mind. Harry's life has been hard on him. He's too young… possessing such power would only be fuel to the fire---

"I know Harry's life has been hard on him. You handled this poorly, Albus!"

"He has to be controlled Draco!"

"How can you do this?" The question was genuine. Draco couldn't believe a truth as devastating as this had escaped him for so long.

"Do not think you are the only one who loves Harry! What I did was for his well-being and the good of everyone else on the planet!"

Draco fists clenched, he couldn't believe what he was hearing from Harry's "mentor".

"You're talking about a person, a human being for God's sake!" At these words Dumbledore finally rose from his chair, towering over Draco in a white rage.

"What I did enabled him to live as a human being! You child!" The man boomed. A tremor of energy ran through the walls of the room, making Draco shiver. Dumbledore sank back into the chair again, suddenly very tired.

His words fell from his mouth weakly, "You have no idea…"

Draco gazed upon the old man. Thie man had controlled Harry his entire life. Harry never lived his own life. He lived the life Dumbledore chose for him.

"There are many evils, Professor."

Draco was ignored by the old man. He watched as he pulled something from his pocket.

A wand…

"Take this with you. It's Mr. Weasley's. I found it near where I found Harry."

He handed the wand to Draco meaningfully, as if it entirely proved his point. The man settled weakly back into his chair, his eyes drawn vacantly back to the sleeping form before them. Draco looked upon Harry's face one last time, stroking back the dark waves of his hair behind his ear before turning to leave the room. He didn't notice the bitter tears falling from beneath the half-moon spectacles.

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Please review with comments and critiques! I would much appreciate it.

Jocey


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